Little By Little
by sweetsolitude137
Summary: Harry and Hermione grow together, little by little. My version of what I think should have happened immediately after the war. I've been working on this for over 10 years. A labor of love. Canon-focused, but ignores epilogue. Slow-burn H/Hr. Also features Ron/Luna, Ginny/Neville pairings. Please read and enjoy! Originally posted on Portkey. Rating likely to increase.
1. Chapter 1 - After the War

August

On an uncharacteristically warm day in August, Harry sat alone by the Great Lake, enveloped within the shade cast by Hogwarts, now in its final stages of renovation since the end of the Second Wizarding War. It felt odd, Harry mused, to be at Hogwarts so late in the summer, when he was no longer _officially_ a student, and to know how ill-prepared he was to leave this place soon, to live the kind of freedom he'd always dreamt of, yet was now afraid to face.

Throughout the summer, it hadn't been difficult for Harry to avoid thinking about the next stage of his life. If he wasn't busy reconstructing the (literal) walls of Hogwarts or re-instating protection wards, he was at the Ministry of Magic working with Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister of Magic, and a team of Aurors to "round up" and convict the remaining supporters of Voldemort.

Even though the focus of his work at the Ministry was admittedly unpleasant (no one, not even the most experienced Aurors at the Ministry, were particularly pleased to recount the atrocities that had been committed by Death Eaters and other followers of Voldemort, or "Voldie's Little Helpers," as some of the more veteran, and "eclectic," Aurors liked to call them), it brought Harry (and the Aurors) relief to know that justice was being served.

It also helped that the majority of the Ministry's Aurors welcomed him openly, treated him as an equal, and respected his opinions while still managing to teach him all they could about the responsibilities and tasks of an Auror. Even though he was never sent out "into the field," and even though it was not official Auror training, Harry felt that he was contributing something positive while learning useful skills in the process.

Looking out over the sparkling surface of the Great Lake, Harry remembered the day in July when Kingsley had visited him in his tiny makeshift cubicle in the Auror Offices in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He'd come to see Harry to offer him a full-time job as an Auror.

"You'll have to work your way up the ranks like everyone else, but you're already a valued part of the team here, Harry. I can't say how many of them have been on my case to offer you the job… but I have a stack of memos to prove it." As he laughed deeply, Kingsley's wide smile shone even in the dim yellow light of the Ministry's Auror Office.

In a similar vein, many people, both inside and outside of the Ministry, had rallied behind Kingsley as the new Minister of Magic in the immediate aftermath of the War. While he'd more than proven his worth during the battle that had taken place at Hogwarts, people had come to see Kingsley as a source of stability, compassion, reassurance, and hope.

With new measures to promote egalitarian relationships and opportunities for positive growth within and outside the Ministry's magical walls, and a full-scale re-organization underway, Kinglsey was proving to be a ray of light in the darkness.

"Best get Robbards to take care of that for you, eh?" Harry commented, referring to an elaborate prank some of the team had played on Auror Robbards earlier that month, a prank which involved hexing a brigade of Ministry memos to encircle, and jab at, the Auror at all times, particularly when using the loo.

Kingsley's sincere laugh filled the room."You see Harry, you fit right in here. But more than that, I'd be honored if you'd be part of this team."

In all honesty, Harry had felt the offer coming for some time, not because he thought himself particularly skilled, or that he deserved it in any way, but because he _did_ feel like he fit in so well here, and because he was so willing and open to learn the ways of an Auror; however, his decision on the offer had not changed since he first suspected its coming.

"I'm honored Minister-"

"Harry," Kingsley bellowed, although not unkindly, "we've talked about you calling me Minister."

"Sorry, _Kingsley,_ I mean _-_ sir… I'm honored that you and everyone else want me as part of the team."

"I hear a 'but' in the works," Kingsley sighed.

"But… right now, I feel like I've had enough experience with dark magic to last me a lifetime… two lifetimes. Probably three. Maybe soon, in a year… or a few years," Harry paused, "If the offer is still valid."

"I had a feeling that would be your answer. Not that I blame you Harry, you've given enough of your life to the cause, more than many of the Aurors here."

Kingsley continued, "But yes, as long as I'm here, the offer stands, if or when you decide to take it up."

"Thank you, sir. And again, I'm grateful that I was considered at all."

"Bah! Some of the Aurors here have been wanting to recruit you since your first year at Hogwarts."

Harry smiled and said, "Some of these guys had too much time on their hands."

Kingsley's sincere laugh shook the room for a moment, startling an innocent memo flying overhead, a few small wisps of parchment landing gently on Harry's shoulder. Harry brushed them off.

"You come back when you're ready, Harry. Merlin, we'll even give you a pass on some of the basic training… as long as you stay in shape of course." Kingsley said, playfully poking Harry in the stomach with the tip of his wand.

"And make" *poke* "sure" *poke* "you let me know if you need anything… anything at all."

"Yes, sir."

As Kingsley turned to walk away, two things rapidly crossed Harry's mind.

"Minister- I mean, Kingsley, sir! There is something!"

Kingsley turned in his spot to face Harry with a quizzical look on his face, a look that was uncommon for Kingsley, a man known to be so steadfastly sure and collected, even in the most difficult situations.

"Within reason of course, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, of course! I just meant… Hermione, Hermione Granger- she's been working so hard to set up Dobby's Hands as a legitimate organization… they do such important-"

"Yes, yes, Harry, you forget that I know Hermione- I dare say she has been as invaluable to so many magic and Muggle folk as she has been to you over the years. I'd be glad to help her, Hagrid, Winky, and Firenze reach their goals. I'll do what I can."

Harry was happy to hear Kingsley's response to his request. Hermione, who, with Dobby's death, had been reminded of her dedication to S.P.E.W., worked so diligently over the summer with Hagrid, Firenze, and Winky to start Dobby's Hands, an organization focused on providing relief to people and creatures, magic _and_ Muggle, affected by the War and other future turmoil, and promoting equality among witches, wizards, house elves, centaurs, and other magical beings and creatures.

At the time of his conversation with Kingsley, Harry knew that Hermione was trying to make headway into the Ministry to gain support and to legitimize Dobby's Hands. He also knew that Hermione, Hagrid, Winky, and Firenze had plans to find a Muggle representative who could expand their efforts among Muggles as well.

They would be pleased to hear that the Minister not only appreciated their hard work, but was interested in helping them grow.

"Is there something else?" Kingsley asked kindly, sensing Harry was not done.

"So many of my friends fought bravely at Hogwarts, but many of them weren't able to take their N.E.W.T.S…. but they're brilliant at Defense. It would mean a lot to me if you considered them for jobs too, if they come looking- Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, Ron Weasley, just to name a few."

"Ah, yes. You shouldn't worry, Harry. We know what so many students had to sacrifice this year- much more than their studies. We will give them all their fair shot."

"Thank you, sir. That's all I ask."

As he turned to walk away, Kingsley nodded with a small but genuine smile across his face and thought quietly, 'Harry Potter, he's given everything he never really had much of in the first place, and still wants for nothing but the happiness of others.'

Emerging from this memory, back on Hogwarts' grounds, Harry smiled, glad that it hadn't taken long for Kingsley to start living up to his promises, as he had legitimized Dobby's Hands within the Ministry, even assigned new Ministry officials to help the new department grow, and had accepted Dean Thomas for Auror basic training.

In addition to his Ministry duties and his time rebuilding Hogwarts, Harry had also spent some of his summer meeting in private locations in London with a few trusted members of the press so that he could honor the true events of the War.

While Harry's experiences with the press in years past had been nothing short of loathsome, Hermione and Luna had convinced Harry to meet with them.

"Don't give them the ability to create their own story for publicity," Hermione said firmly. "The story should come from you."

"Yes," Luna said, "too often the press misrepresents people who no longer have a voice," Luna agreed.

Of course, during these press meetings, Harry left out many of the details (whether they were too personal or too difficult to relive, or simply unnecessary to the story Harry felt the public should know). Harry did give credit where credit was due, and was honest about any and all of the events he felt he could accurately speak for.

Harry hadn't spoken too much of Snape, as he was still unable to come to terms with much of the truth of his professor's life. In fact, Harry hadn't spoken to _anyone_ about Snape's memories, not the ones concerning his mother anyway, and he sometimes wondered if he would ever be comfortable enough to share what he'd seen through the pensieve the day he faced Voldemort for the last time.

Despite these factors, Harry made absolutely certain, with the best of his ability, to clear the name Severus Snape, and give him the credit he deserved.

Unfortunately, Harry had spent a significant amount his summer days at funerals honoring those who had given their lives so that others may live, including Fred, Colin, Tonks and Remus. Harry attended them all and had even attempted to manage a few coherent words at some… but he didn't like to think about those days.

While Monday through Saturday were days reserved for the Ministry, funerals, Hogwarts, and the press, Sundays were reserved for classes.

Sunday was the day, every week, when he, Ron, and Hermione would meet with Professor McGonagall in a makeshift Transfiguration classroom, or with Professor Spout in the new greenhouses reconstructed (nearly entirely by Neville and Professor Sprout) not far from Hagrid's hut, or with Professor Slughorn in his makeshift Potions lab, or with Professor Flitwick, who scheduled today's lesson by the Lake.

 _It's more like Flitwick's_ and _Hermione's class_ , Harry thought, chuckling to himself, knowing how much "guidance" he and Ron needed in Charms.

These meetings were designated with the purpose of completing the work that was typical for a seventh year student. Of course, it wasn't the same Hogwarts' education he would have received if he could have completed his seventh year as a normal student, but McGonagall and Hermione insisted that even now, after all that had happened, it was important to take and pass the N.E.W.T.S., "For the future," Hermione always said, whenever Ron or Harry would argue against the Sunday lessons.

As much as he and Ron complained about these Sunday "meetings," ( _although these days it's mostly Ron_ , Harry mused), Harry found a sense of comfort in them, knowing that Sundays, which were days of rest for the rest of the witches and wizards rebuilding Hogwarts, would serve to distract Harry from his thoughts.

Not only that, but it felt nice to learn as he had in his earlier years as a student, beside his two best friends, and to realize that he'd grown to become rather like equals to the Professors who had taught him for so long. During his eventful weekdays, Harry found himself longing for the normalcy and dependability of Sundays.

Harry was interrupted from these reflections as he heard someone approach. "Harry, you're early." It was Hermione, basket in hand, dressed casually for the day's outdoor Charms lesson.

"I had some free time," Harry admitted, which was true, given the fact that the physical renovations of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts were nearly complete.

Witches, wizards, and other magical beings from all over the world journeyed to Hogwarts to give their support in any way they could. By the end of June, believe it or not, there was no longer room inside the castle for people to stay, not even in the Room of Requirement, so many ventured outdoors, in tents, in order to stay and help rebuild. Harry often wondered why so many chose to stay from day to day, when they could simply apparate home each night.

Apparently, the same thought had crossed Ron's mind on a day earlier in the summer, prompting him to ask a former Durmstrang student the very question Harry had asked himself on numerous occasions. The boy responded, "Ve understand the tragedy of var, and how _all_ must come together to rebuild. Ve vont to show our thanks… this is how."

"Plus," Hermione had added after they'd had a moment to reflect on the student's comment, "splinching is much more likely over greater distances," after which Ron shivered and looked away, rubbing his hands up and down his arms, remembering his own experience with splinching.

Hermione winced, realizing what she had done. Harry attempts to give her a reassuring look.

Harry was awed and overwhelmed not only by the willingness of these relative strangers to rebuild a place they barely knew, but by the amazing strength each individual contributed to the rehabilitation of those who had experienced loss during the War. The community of support served to lift people's spirits, and to propel the renovation of Hogwarts.

Harry (unsurprisingly), found himself as the face of this community of support, as people frequently sought him out to express their gratitude, relief, sadness, anger, and hope, sometimes in the form of a large meeting in the Great Hall, and sometimes in the form of a silent handshake.

Harry, as always, felt discomforted by the attention, and used any available opportunity to explain to others that their gratitude was misplaced. Harry took any chance he could to remind others that he was only a piece of the War effort, and that thanks should be given to those who gave their lives to protect others. In some small way, he felt that this helped sustain the memory of those who had died.

Harry also felt uncomfortable being the face of Hogwarts' community of support because he knew that Hermione was truly responsible for its' success. Throughout the summer, she headed the organization of daily support groups, finding ways for any and every being to contribute, and planning events (like Quidditch tournaments and biweekly gatherings or organizational meetings in the Great Hall) to motivate others and build morale.

Not only that, but she worked closely with the Ministry's Muggle Liaison Office and the newly formed Dobby's Hands to help support magical and Muggle communities all around the United Kingdom, linking families affected by the War to the services and resources they needed to rebuild their own lives.

Of course, Hermione had the help and support of others, but Harry knew she was the driving force behind it all. In this way, Harry knew that, like himself, Hermione was forgetting to take care of herself. As if to reaffirm this knowledge, Harry noticed the evident exhaustion in her eyes as she stood next to him by the Lake.

"I brought some iced pumpkin juice from the kitchens since it's so hot today."

"Thanks, Hermione. Have you seen Ron around?"

"No… I feel like I haven't seen him once since last Sunday actually," Hermione said, her eyes downcast.

Harry noticed an undertone of sadness in her voice that he realized had been present for weeks now, particularly when Ron was the subject of conversation. "I don't feel like I've seen you since last Sunday either," she continued, looking up to meet Harry's concerned gaze.

Harry nodded. As much as he appreciated all the distractions the process of rebuilding had given him, he missed his best friends. He also guessed that much of Hermione's sadness was the result of a relationship with Ron that had seemed so promising in May, but hadn't yet had the chance to develop.

Harry was empathetic to Hermione's sadness because his relationship with Ginny continued to be no more than a question lingering in the back of his mind, and a few awkward silences. But this confusion was somehow balanced with the a new comfortable friendship developed between them. All of it had him wondering if the moment they'd shared during the Final Battle was no more than a distant dream.

In the days immediately following the battle, Harry and Ginny had spent some time alone together for comfort, to talk about all that had transpired, and to dream about what might be next for them.

It was during these conversations when Harry realized that Ginny, by no fault of her own, was in the dark when it came to the details of Harry's life. While Harry had once relished in this fact, it now made him a bit… uneasy.

But he felt even more uneasy at the thought of talking with Ginny about everything that had happened over the past year. The search for Horcruxes. The hopelessness and fear. The loneliness. When Ron left. The physical agony and the psychological pain. When Dobby died.

He knew that he continued to withhold information from Ginny, somehow unable to share everything he knew he should. Whether or not she noticed, Harry never knew for sure, but appreciate that Ginny continued to listen without prying.

 _Maybe she doesn't_ want _to know some things_ , Harry thought. _Who would want to know everything that's happened?_

Not so long ago, Ginny's distance from many of the significant events (most of them painful) and people (plenty of them less than pleasant) in Harry's life had allowed Harry to feel he could be "just Harry"- to escape from the turmoil which seemed inextricably linked to him. Now, after all he had been through, witnessed, and learned during the War, Harry realized that those painful experiences had made him who he is, had become important parts of "just Harry." Harry felt that escaping from those difficult times and influences was not only wrong, but disrespectful to the people, now gone, who had helped him through those hardships.

Harry tried to be open and honest with Ginny about his life, but he often found his words blocked by feelings of discomfort and anxiety- again, not by any fault of Ginny's - as if he felt somehow forced to share intimate details of his life with someone he hardly knew, or with someone with whom it was difficult to relate.

Plus, while the cloud of ash and dust had finally seemed to settle around Hogwarts, Harry was still plagued by a cloud of remorse, fear, and something like denial, like some part of him was fighting to believe that the people he cared for were still in danger.

In any case, Harry was not ready to talk about some of the more- _challenging_ \- aspects of what had occurred during the battle at Hogwarts, especially not with Ginny.

Sensing his thoughts in the now prolonged silence, Hermione asked, "How's Ginny?"

"Honestly, I wouldn't really know. Now that the castle's almost done she's been spending more and more time at the Burrow and the Quidditch pitch."

For a moment, Harry suddenly felt compelled to talk to Hermione about his relationship, or lack thereof, with Ginny, but he couldn't bring himself to speak a word of it.

Ginny had been a frequent presence at Hogwarts during the immediate aftermath of the War, but after deciding that she would not return to school for her final year, her focus had shifted from helping to rebuild Hogwarts to helping to strengthen her true home- the Burrow- and, with dreams of a career, her Quidditch skills.

"Do you think you'll go there soon, to the Burrow? To be with her, and help Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?"

Harry shrugged, "I don't know. I haven't thought about it much."

Hermione nodded, knowing that Harry had been avoiding thinking about and making plans for his future, much the same way she tried not to consider her own, even if she didn't let on. There was another silence then, as Harry and Hermione looked out over the Lake.

To add to his ever-growing list of concerns and questions, Harry felt very unsure about living at the Burrow. He knew that moving to the Burrow would be the easy thing to do, as the Weasleys _were_ his family, and it would probably give his relationship with Ginny a better chance.

At the same time, Harry feared that moving to the Burrow would be just another distraction from starting his "real life" and facing the emotions he'd been busy burying since the beginning of the War… _well_ , Harry mused honestly, _I've been burying things for as long as I can remember_.

Harry then thought of Hermione, who, despite her outward show of perseverance and optimism, he was truly worried about, who he'd been worried about for much of the summer, who still hadn't gone to Australia to restore her parents' memories.

"Hermione," Harry started quietly, tentatively, "when are you going to bring back your parents?"

Hermione looked to the ground then, hiding the tears that were beginning to well in her eyes, the way they did whenever someone asked her about her parents. She wondered what Harry must think of her, having parents, but choosing to keep them away.

"You must think I'm a horrible person."

"Of course I don't," Harry said immediately, but gently, "I guess I'm just… I don't know. Won't you feel better to be home with them?" Harry couldn't bring himself to admit to Hermione that he was worried about her, for fear of adding another pressure in her life.

Hermione didn't want to admit that her avoidance to restore her parents memories and bring them home did _not_ stem from a fear that they would be angry with her when she revealed to them what had happened. She knew they would be angry with her, but she also knew her parents. Their anger would quickly diminish, and they would just be happy to be together with their daughter again.

Rather like Harry, her avoidance stemmed from the fact that she knew that she would have to explain and thus relive all that had occurred during the War, that she would have to face how she felt about what transpired during the past year, and most frighteningly, she would have to decide what to do next.

In spite of these fears, Hermione knew that her time to avoid "restarting" her life was running out.

"I'll go with you, if you want. If you're afraid they won't understand why you did what you did."

Hermione smiled sadly, remembering a time not long ago when she'd said similar words to Harry, when she told Harry she would face Voldemort by his side. Hermione wished it were as simple as being afraid that her parents would misunderstand why she altered their memories, but it assured her to know that Harry did not understand her true fears.

 _He has his own fears to face_ , she thought, knowing that Harry's time to begin his next chapter was rapidly approaching.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione responded as gently as she could, afraid that what she was about say next would not sit well with her best friend. "Ron and I talked about going together to Australia soon, and I think it might be best if we stick to that plan. Maybe… maybe then he and I will have some time to…" she trailed off, blushing.

Harry nodded, understanding why Hermione wanted some time alone with Ron, but the sudden thought that his best friends, even in some small way, neither wanted nor needed him, made his chest tighten in a sort of sickening loneliness.

"What about all your work here? And Dobby's Hands?"

"Harry, you know that there are so many other people out there working tirelessly to rebuild, and that some things… some things can only be mended to a certain point- when time has to take over."

Harry nodded, thinking to himself that there are some things that even time can't mend.

"As for Dobby's hands, that was always meant to be run by Hagrid, Winky, and Firenze, and someone who has much more experience with navigating the Ministry. Being right out of school, I would be doing the organization a disservice to be their leader right now. It also wouldn't be best to have a witch or a wizard as the leader of the organization… Plus, Kingsley's given all the support they need now… partly thanks to you."

Hermione smiled, trying to ease some of the tension she could sense brewing between them.

"I need to undo what I did to my parents, and I need to give Ron and I a fair chance…" Hermione observed that it felt odd to say it all aloud.

"Well, then I guess I will go to the Burrow and spend time with Ginny," Harry responded, somewhat more harshly than he'd intended.

 _As if Hermione cares if I'm at the Burrow with Ginny, without her and Ron_ , Harry thought flatly.

As she feared, Hermione had struck an unpleasant cord with Harry, but decided not to make an issue of it. She knew he might feel left out if she and Ron went to Australia, but she also knew that Harry and Ginny should also spend time alone. She knew Harry's understanding of relationships was limited.

And your's isn't? She thought sarcastically to herself.

She knew Harry would need a little push in the right direction.

"That might be best. You can help the Weasleys, and you can figure things out with Ginny."

"It seems like we kind of have some things figured out then," Harry ventured with an empty smile, looking Hermione in the eyes, trying to reassure himself, and knowing none of it was true.

"As much as we're ready to figure things out," Hermione responded, believing none of it.

August was coming to a close the night before Hermione and Ron planned to leave for Australia, and Harry for the Burrow. Compared to June, July, and much of August, Hogwarts had now become eerily quiet, which Harry was grateful for, as it made it much easier for him to leave, now that there was very little for him left to use to prevent himself from reflecting on everything he could have done differently over the past year, prevent him from thinking about what he would do next.

 _Well, at least I passed some N.E.W.T.'s_ , Harry thought dryly as he walked into the Gryffindor common room to meet Ron before heading down to the Great Hall for dinner, knowing that passing his final Hogwarts' exams in no way offered any guidance for his future.

"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked.

"She said she has to finish packing for tomorrow," Ron replied. Harry nodded, understanding, but feeling disappointed they wouldn't be sharing a final Hogwarts' meal together.

As they made their way down to the Great Hall, passing all manner of portraits waving, whispering, sleeping, and arguing, Harry mused that the War had changed Ron, as it had changed everyone, in some ways for the better and in some ways for worse.

The loss of Fred had left a mark on Ron that would never quite heal, a mark that had, for weeks, kept Ron away from joy and laughter; however, the War efforts had uncovered Ron's often-hidden determination and hard work, both of which were usually reserved for only the most necessary of moments, and had prompted him to put all he could into helping Hogwarts, and more significantly, his family.

He'd even mustered up the strength to run Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for George. While George had, unfathomably to many, continued to be a source of merriment, pranks, and laughter throughout the summer at Hogwarts, he could not yet bear to set foot in the shop he'd started with his twin.

Harry remembered the day, during lunch in the Great Hall, when Ron resolved to re-open the shop for business.

"People need to laugh now more than ever. It's what Fr- it's what Fred would have wanted," Ron said, his voice small but sure.

Harry remembered that George had looked up from his plate then, to give Ron a nod that somehow managed to communicate more sadness and gratitude than any words could.

Harry admired Ron for this determination, and hoped not only that it was here to stay, but that it spread to other aspects of Ron's life, most notably his and Hermione's relationship.

 _She needs someone she can count on, now more than ever._

Harry's supper with Ron in the Great Hall felt both oddly familiar and unfamiliar; unfamiliar because the long house tables were nearly empty. Familiar were the delicious mince pies and pumpkin juice… not to mention Ron's ever-so-proper table manners.

"Feels strange, eh?" Ron commented, having just taken a bite, a second bite not far away from his mouth.

Harry nodded. "We'll be back though."

"Sure will… you think I could hire one of the House Elves as a personal cook?"

Harry snorted. "If you can get Hermione to go for that."

Ron shook his head in jest. "She just doesn't appreciate good food."

Harry smirked, "Hermione might appreciate good food when it's not falling out of your mouth."

"That hurts, Harry," Ron said flatly.

After they finished up the last bit of a strawberry cream pie, Harry felt that he owed it to Hogwarts to take a tour of its spacious halls, high towers, moving stairways, and shadowy nooks. In his head, Harry knew it wasn't a true goodbye, but in his heart he felt as though each step he took was a door closing on a particular memory, experience, or thought. Harry knew that the things he'd done and seen and felt during his years at Hogwarts would in some way always be a part of him, but he also knew that it was time to begin a new chapter in his life, outside the walls of the first place he'd ever called home.

Not feeling quite adventurous enough to tour the grounds that night, Harry thought it might be a good idea to get a bird's eye view of the grassy slopes of Hogwarts' landscapes.

As Harry ascended the steps of the Astronomy Tower, he chose not to think about the night Dumbledore died. Instead, he reminded himself of his first year at Hogwarts, when he and Hermione had sent little yet fiery Norbert (later known as Roberta) off with Charlie, and the subsequent trouble they'd both gotten into. Back then, the situation had seemed so dangerous and life-altering; Harry now chuckled at the memory.

"Harry, is that you?" Harry was suddenly startled out of his memory at the sound of a familiar voice echoing from the Astronomy Tower's main balcony.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, even though he instantly recognized her voice. Looking up toward the open balcony from his low position in the room, he spotted Hermione.

"I'm up here, on the balcony."

"I know, I see you." And if Harry had to admit it, the sight of her up on the balcony was breathtaking- like seeing his patronus or the ceiling of the Great Hall for the first time- her outline framed against a star-filled, moonless backdrop. Harry thought to himself that she looked quite like she was floating there, up in the night sky, surrounded by starlight.

Harry joined her on the balcony, and the two friends stood in an awed silence, taking in the beautiful scenery around them.

After some time like this, Hermione broke the silence. "Were you laughing about Norbert?"

Harry smiled and nodded.

"It seemed so _rebellious_ back then. It was one of the first times in my life I'd ever broken the rules."

"Oh, if only you knew back then how many more rules you'd break," Harry chuckled teasingly.

Hermione laughed and said, "I don't think I would have made it to my second year if I knew that then."

"Well, you wouldn't have broken so many rules if it wasn't for me," Harry joked.

Hermione knew that even though Harry's tone of voice was joking, deep down, he truly meant what he said.

"You say that, Harry, like it's a bad thing, but it's not true. Why do you think I was sorted into Gryffindor, not Ravenclaw? Because I knew in my heart that some rules do more harm than good, and that sometimes you have to break the rules in order to protect the people you care about… or at least I grew to learn those things."

"And I thought you were sorted into Gryffindor to keep us all from flunking out," Harry teased.

Hermione tried her best to glare at him then, resisting her know-it-all urge to tell Harry that you can't just _flunk_ out of Hogwarts, trying and failing to hide her smile.

Again, they were quiet for some time, listening to the sounds of the evening; the distant hoot of an owl, the menacing creaks of the wind and trees in the Forbidden Forest, a flutter of dark wings on the surface of the Great Lake.

Over all the weeks of "camping" they'd done, Harry had sometimes despised the silence that he and Hermione, and Ron as well, had shared, particularly when a certain Horcrux had made it unbearable. Somewhere along the way though, out of all the darkness, he'd found to not only enjoy their silence at times, but to appreciate the levels of comfort, contemplation, and what he deemed "living-in-the-moment-ness" he could experience.

"It's funny," Hermione began, her voice nearly a whisper, "after the War I told myself I would be happy to never see a tent again, but once the castle got too crowded and people set up tents on the grounds, I've been coming up here almost every night just to look at them all."

Harry nodded, sensing Hermione had more to say.

"The first night I came up here, I found Luna. She told me this was one of her favorite spots because it was a prime lookout for large-scale wackspurt migration patterns. I told her it was a lovely view, and she told me I could have it, thinking I needed it more than she did."

Harry chuckled, not surprised at Hermione's recounting of what Luna said. He felt a sudden surge of joy run through him as he realized that Luna would not be far away from the Burrow in the coming months. He felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

"I didn't know what she meant then," Hermione continued, "but of course it _was-_ beautiful, the view, watching lanterns and campfires flicker, and listening to the voices and laughter and music rise up through the night."

Harry wasn't sure he'd ever heard Hermione talk this way before, but he was glad for it.

"Even George and Angelina, always setting off one explosion or another… but the most beautiful thing of all was seeing that all these people were here to help... just knowing that one fact gave me hope, the way I think Luna knew it would."

Although Harry hadn't been with Hermione on those nights, he thought that must have been something to see, and wished that she had asked him to join her.

"None of it would have been possible without you, you know," Harry said sincerely.

Hermione smiled sheepishly, but made no response.

The thought that Ron and Hermione would be leaving for Australia and he for the Burrow the following morning both frightened and saddened Harry, but listening to Hermione's recollections of her nightly visits to the Astronomy Tower somehow calmed him and gave him a renewed sense of hope, even though he hadn't shared the experiences with her.

 _Voldemort's gone_ , Harry thought, as if he needed to be reminded, _and if all those people gathered to help, there_ has _to be good things to come_.

Later that night, after Hermione and Harry joined Ron in the common room for a long chat filled with the silence of their thoughts of upcoming change, of course balanced with plenty of laughter, visions of stars and flickering lanterns filled Harry's mind as he drifted to sleep in his four-poster bed in his room in Gryffindor Tower, for perhaps the last time.

In the moment right before consciousness left him, Harry felt no fear in his heart for the first time in a very, very long time.


	2. Chapter 2 - Rapidly Fading Light

September

He was coming on two weeks living with Ginny, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Percy, who had moved home for the time being, when Harry trekked up the lopsided stairs of the Burrow one late afternoon. The September sun was setting, casting warm orange streams of light at random intervals along his journey, through the crooked, mis-matched windows, each separated ray like the blast conjured by a particularly well-performed spell.

As he reached one of the many lopsided landings along the stairway, Harry heard a voice emanating from a room further down the hall. Harry moved toward the source of the voice, his footsteps unintentionally quiet.

Peering around a wooden doorframe, he was met with the sight of Ginny and Teddy curled up in a carpeted spot on the floor.

Since Harry's arrival at the Burrow, Teddy had been a frequent and welcome visitor. When Teddy first began visiting two weeks ago, Harry felt that he was making good on the promise he'd made to Remus the night he used the Resurrection Stone.

While he was glad to keep the promise, Harry found personal joy in spending time with and taking care of Teddy.

Harry vowed to himself that there was no way he was going to allow Teddy to have a childhood even a minutia like his own had been.

Today, Teddy's hair rivaled the shade of Weasley-red, and his nose was dotted with freckles. While this was not Teddy's true appearance, Harry was not surprised at his current physical facade; Teddy had a tendency to mime the appearance of companions, especially if he was feeling uncomfortable, or if he did not know the person well. It was not the first time Harry had seen Teddy Lupin look more like Teddy Weasley.

Ginny and Teddy made for a picturesque pair, bathed in the glow of the evening sun, Ginny's tone of voice slightly louder than Teddy's casual hums and sighs as she related a tale to the distracted baby.

Since Harry managed to stay hidden within the shadows of the hall, Ginny and Teddy did not realize his presence, so he listened.

Harry soon realized that he was the focus of Ginny's story; his first year at Hogwarts- the beginning. No matter how many times during his life he had overheard conversations he was not intended to hear, and even though Ginny was not talking about him in a negative way, hearing someone talk about him as if he were not there still elicited an unpleasant response inside of Harry; feelings of detachment and emptiness.

Plus, Harry had always hated being the center of attention.

Harry gazed momentarily, eyes unfocused, out of the window behind Ginny, and noticed that the sun was hardly even a sliver on the horizon. He rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the rapidly fading light.

Ginny continued her story of Harry's first year at Hogwarts. "…and after Ron was knocked off his horse, Harry moved to win the game of chess. They were very scared and tired, but Harry knew what he had to do. He went into the next room, but what he didn't know was that Voldemort was waiting for him."

 _But the potions and the riddle,_ Harry thought.

Harry did not have the heart to correct Ginny, or to remind her of the crucial role Hermione played in the story.

Harry then remembered that Ginny may have no knowledge of Hermione's full part in finding the Sorcerer's Stone before Voldemort could.

Harry figured that the inaccuracies of Ginny's story hardly mattered during those moments of Teddy's early life- he could not fully understand, not yet- and besides, Teddy, returning to his true appearance, seemed to have somehow drifted off to sleep without Ginny's notice.

Forgetting the purpose of his initial journey up the stairs of the Burrow, Harry turned from his position just outside of the room and walked back down the stairs, the continuation of Ginny's story dissipating into a dull murmur.

While Harry and Ginny had started the month of September with open minds and open hearts, they both realized rather quickly that the strange distance that had grown between them was there to stay, a distance that was characterized by a growing number of hidden thoughts and platonic embraces.

Sometimes Harry felt as if Ginny was waiting for him to speak up, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wouldn't even know what to say.

Before the War, Harry relished the time he'd spent with Ginny as an escape from the difficulties in his life, especially the parts of his life he felt he had no control over, the parts of his life he felt he had never chosen.

During those past moments with Ginny, Harry felt like he could just be himself- _just Harry_ \- but things were different now.

The War helped Harry realize that the challenges and tragedies he'd faced, however horrible, had made him what he felt was a better person, and had contributed to who "just Harry" had become.

Harry knew that his past- the good and the plethora of bad- was inextricably linked to him, and he was starting to learn that the darkness in his past had planted the seeds of so many good things.

Even more, Harry was starting to understand that the darkness of his past helped him become who he was today… and most of all, he was beginning to learn that he was okay with that.

 _I have to be okay with that_ , Harry thought, not wanting to consider the alternative.

Harry knew that part of the problem between Ginny and himself was that he couldn't be the person he'd been during his sixth year at Hogwarts.

He didn't _want_ to be the person he used to be because that meant avoiding, escaping, and denying, and he knew that avoiding, escaping, and denying under these circumstances meant forgetting.

Harry didn't want to forget.

He also knew that Ginny had of course changed in some ways, and that he would never expect her to be the person she had been before. She certainly wasn't the same person she'd been during his sixth year, either.

In any case, Harry, _did_ avoid analyzing and discussing the distance and awkwardness that had grown between them for as long as possible.

Ginny, usually not one to be afraid of facing this type of emotionally-leaden obstacle head-on, had avoided discussing the changes as well.

 _Is this how relationships are supposed to be?_ Harry found himself wondering at least one a day. Other than his brief "relationship" with Cho Chang, and observing Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and his aunt and uncle, Harry had very little knowledge of how relationships beyond those of friendship work.

On a day in late September, when afternoon breezes had transformed from warm to crisp and the nights from comfortable to cool, Harry was startled when Ginny halted mid-flight, a Quaffle the color of faded rust under one arm, on one of their daily Quidditch practice sessions.

Harry was frightened not because he nearly careened into her on his own broomstick, but because he feared how Ginny would react to the conversation he rather suddenly realized was imminent. In all honesty, Harry was afraid Ginny would be angry with him.

Although Harry knew why Ginny had abruptly halted her course back to the Burrow, he was still surprised when she said, very calmly and a bit matter-of-fact, "Harry, this isn't working, is it?"

"What, our practices?" Harry said in an attempt to change the subject he feared was coming.

"No, no, our practices have been great. I know you're too polite to bring it up, or that you've been avoiding it… or maybe both… but I also know that something is different."

Harry sighed, looking down and wishing that his relationship with Ginny, and all relationships for that matter, could be as smooth as the polished wood of his broomstick's handle.

"I've been wanting to talk to you about it for a while, but I've been avoiding it too, because I don't really understand what happened. I also wanted to give you space. I'm glad you've given _me_ space."

Harry didn't know what to say, so he apologized. "I'm so sorry Ginny… I really don't know what happened- what's happening either."

Harry looked up at Ginny then. Even though he no longer felt the same way he once had when he looked at her, Harry still thought Ginny was pretty, especially now, her red hair shining in the light of the afternoon sun, her eyes bright and clear even during a conversation like this. He still felt friendship toward her, and appreciated her.

"I don't get it either, Harry. I don't know how we could- we've all been focused on Voldemort for so long… we haven't really ever been normal teenagers," Ginny laughed, and Harry did too.

She continued, "All I _do_ know is that I'm not who I was before the War, and neither are you. The people who we are now don't think, or feel, or want the same things as the people we used to be."

Harry nodded, showing Ginny that he agreed, and glad that, while they hadn't been able to talk much about "them," they'd been able to talk about so many other things. Ginny had made it clear that it was her dream to become a professional Quidditch player (preferably for the Holyhead Harpies, of course), which meant at least a year of grueling daily practices, weeks of tryouts, and hopefully, a whole lot of luck.

Harry respected and admired Ginny's goals, but he wasn't sure if her goals of excitement, risk, and spotlight coincided in any way with his own hopes for the future… Harry often felt like he'd had more than enough of those things, even if he had yet to nail down any goals beyond the hope of one day having a family of his own.

But Harry knew- and now he knew that Ginny knew too- that it was so much more than future goals.

"Maybe we could have made it work if we had changed together like George and Angelina, but I don't think we changed like that."

Again, Harry nodded in agreement. Harry and Ginny had been through so much, but they had been through so much _apart_. It had been a refuge once… for both of them. But now it just felt odd.

Listening to Ginny's concise, almost practiced words helped Harry realize that Ginny had also likely been consumed by thoughts of the growing distance between them. Somehow, it made him feel better to know that he wasn't alone in his feelings.

"We're not giving up though, are we? I mean, I don't know what else we can do-" Harry started.

Ginny shook her head.

"You can't force this kind of stuff," Ginny said.

Harry was suddenly reminded of the Yule Ball, and how terrible of a date he'd been. He remembered Lavender Brown, and Romilda Vane's love potion. Ginny was right, you couldn't force this kind of stuff.

"Also, it's not giving up if there's nothing left to give up in the first place. I wish it were as simple as talking it through or working it out, but it's almost like we both have amnesia, and we are trying to fix something we don't remember anything about… and I guess, the more time we spend together trying to make this distant thing work, the less we remember- and we only grow further apart."

Ginny smiled sadly.

Harry saw and said, "I'm sorry Ginny-"

"There is nothing to be sorry about, Harry!" Ginny laughed. "This isn't anyone's fault, " she continued kindly.

"It's good that we tried, don't get me wrong, but it's even better that we figured this out now, before we make promises that neither of us really want to keep."

Harry nodded. "You know I'll always love you though, right?"

The words just sort of fell out of his mouth, but he wasn't embarrassed by them. He meant them. In that moment, Harry figured he had no reason not to tell people how he feels about them anymore. The War, he realized, more than losing Sirius or Dumbledore, gave him perspective, and made him see that it was important to let the people you cared about know that you cared about them, because they could be gone tomorrow.

"You're one of my best friends."

Ginny smiled and blushed, taken aback. Harry was instantly reminded of a much younger Ginny, in her pajamas in the Weasleys' kitchen, unable to make a sound in Harry's presence. Harry chuckled.

"I know," Ginny said finally, "and I'll always love you too. I know it's sort of weird to day, but you're family to me. And it's not like we're not going to see each other now or anything. I mean, we live in the same house, so… now I guess I just don't have to worry as much when I fly faster than you, or when I use "unbecoming" language at supper."

Harry laughed, knowing that Ginny _never_ worried about doing anything better than he did, but rather relished it. Harry figured there was no way to escape that if you were the youngest girl of six older brothers. What also made him laugh was thinking of Mrs. Weasley's dinnertime reprimands, of which she had many for all of her children, and how they never failed to be joked about, particularly when she was out of earshot.

"Like you worry about those things-"

"Last one home has degnoming duty!" Ginny interrupted, speeding off toward the Burrow.

Harry only smirked and shook his head, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. He would always admire Ginny's humor, open-mindedness, and fiery spirit, and he found comfort in knowing that she would never stop caring for him, but Harry felt lighter knowing that their attempts at rebuilding a romantic relationship were over.

The feelings had been there, but they'd both grown away from them, and Harry felt wiser suddenly, in realizing that was okay.

As Harry turned toward the direction of the Burrow and spotted the zig-zag bricks of the house's smoking chimney in the distance, he gulped nervously, suddenly realizing that Mrs. Weasley would eventually become privy to this new development.

Harry was looking forward to that as much as he looked forward to facing a blast-ended skrewt.


	3. Chapter 3 - Magic Enough

October

Harry couldn't decide if it was very late or very, very early. To help him decide, he looked at the clock, an Arthur Weasley Muggle masterpiece that lived its life part-time as a toaster, on the Burrow's kitchen counter, and saw that it was two in the morning.

 _Very, very early_ , Harry decided.

He tried to busy his mind with memories of the previous few weeks to keep his mind off of just how early it was.

Harry remembered the day a few weeks ago, when he and Ginny, high above the ground, had discussed the re-emergence of their friendship, and the end of whatever the other stuff had been. He also remembered a few days later, when Ron and Hermione had returned from Australia.

The day his two best friends returned was one of joy and relief. While Ron and Hermione were away, Harry had experienced what he could only describe as separation anxiety, even though they'd sent him letters every week.

Harry had worried every day in September about Ron and Hermione's safety. Even with the company of Ginny, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Percy, Harry had felt quite strange and a bit empty, as if he was forgetting something, but couldn't exactly remember what.

He'd often found himself thinking that if he had a Remembrall, it would be red all day, every day.

If Harry was being honest with himself, he would also admit that he'd felt a bit jealous, that his friends would go so far away for so long without him, especially during such an important time in all of their lives.

All of these negative feelings were forgotten however, the day Ron and Hermione returned.

While Harry had hoped that Ron and Hermione would leave the worst parts of the bickering and argumentative aspects of their relationship behind them after the War, during the days in early October when Hermione stayed at the Burrow, Harry, Ginny, and the rest of the Weasleys became acutely aware that the only things that had changed during Hermione and Ron's trip to Australia were Hermione's skin from pale to tan and Ron's from white to sunburnt.

As far as Harry could figure out, Ron and Hermione had _something_ going- he saw they would hold hands, sit closely, and say more appreciative things of one another. During these times, anyone would label them boyfriend and girlfriend; however, their temperament toward each other seemed to change from day to day, and Harry sometimes found himself put in the middle.

 _Karma I guess_ , Harry thought miserably, reminded of fourth year, when he and Ron were not on speaking terms, and how he and Ron had put Hermione in the middle.

Harry did his best to ease the tension by joking, listening to Ron's complaints, by distracting Hermione on short walks through the fields surrounding the Burrow, or- in times of desperation- asking Hermione to look up bits of information Harry didn't really need; however, these peace-keeping attempts did not seem to have much effect.

While it was always clear _what_ they were arguing about- Ron being inconsiderate, Hermione being pushy, Hermione being "mental," as Ron still occasionally thought to put it- Harry couldn't figure out the true reason _why_ they were arguing.

Before, Harry thought the root of the arguing was their hidden feelings for each other…. but now, Harry had no clue.

He'd even overcome his extreme discomfort with the subject enough to go to Ginny to try to help.

"Gin- is Ron and Hermione's, uh, relationship… normal?"

Ginny had looked at Harry then, fighting the urge to make a joke with the realization that, other than her parents, Harry had never had the opportunity to witness a loving relationship between a dating or married couple.

All Ginny could muster with a smile was, "Ron and Hermione have never been normal, but I think they'll be okay."

This had not helped Harry at all.

Ginny wished she could say more, but she felt it wasn't her place. She was also staring to wonder herself if her brother and Hermione were right for each other.

 _I'm not sure I want to know if they're okay_ , Harry thought, sitting in the dark in the Weasleys' kitchen, trying to rid the uncomfortable topic from his thoughts.

 _At least they seem to get along most of the time_ , Harry thought, concluding that maybe their bickering and misunderstandings would always be a part of their relationship. He'd been able to mostly tolerate it when they were just friends, so why couldn't he get used to it now?

Harry returned his focus to Mr. Weasley's Muggle "clock" in the kitchen.

 _Too early to be up_ , Harry thought to himself with a grimace.

It wasn't uncommon for Harry to be up at this time of morning, as he was not a stranger to nightmares, racing thoughts and memories, and anxiety, especially since the conclusion of the War.

Sometimes, these things prevented sleep from coming, and sometimes these things were a willful aversion to sleep- staying awake would keep the pain of nightmares away.

In any case, he often spent hours sitting at the Weasleys' kitchen table in the quiet bluish light of early morning, nibbling on a bite of toast, looking in his photo album, reading a book, or diverting his mind with other, more palatable thoughts and memories.

On some mornings, he wasn't alone.

On occasion, Ron, Ginny, Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, and on one occasion even Percy would join him at the table, complaining of similar problems; a nightmare, feelings of restlessness, heartache. By late in September, Harry had thought it odd how never more than one Weasley (and oddly, never Hermione) joined him for an early morning chat.

Harry's suspicion had led him to ask Hermione if she thought that the Weasleys had conspired to alternate "nightly Harry duty."

She hadn't taken it kindly, to say the least.

"Honestly, Harry, you're worse than Ron sometimes. They have their own nightly battles to face just as much as you."

Her comment had been like a slap to the face, but a needed one. Harry wondered how he could have been so self-occupied.

On some of these early mornings (Harry later learned it was when the moon was waxing crescent, waning crescent, or full), Harry was joined by Luna, who, by foot (literally, as she was more often barefoot than not) traveled the short distance from her rook chess piece of a home on a hill down to the Burrow.

Harry remembered the first night Luna had joined him in his wakefulness.

That early morning had been the first time after the War, _and hopefully the last_ , he mused, Harry had convinced himself that he and the Weasleys were surely in the midst of an attack by a wayward Deatheater, one of the unfortunate many who continued to linger and roam about the countryside, claiming to do Voldemort's work, believing he will one day return.

Hearing strange noises coming from outside, Harry had stealthily crept out of the Weasleys' kitchen into the moonlight, in the direction of faintly rustling bushes.

Seeing what Harry originally thought was a strangely glowing orb (he later realized the orb was only Luna's platinum blond head), he readied his wand to perform a disarming spell; however, the "Ex-" of Harry's "Expelliarmus!" was interrupted by a dreamy voice emanating from amongst Mrs. Weasley's vegetable garden.

"Hello, Harry. Enjoying the moonlight?"

"Luna?" Harry questioned unbelievingly.

Finally letting his guard and wand arm down, Harry saw that Luna was happily crouched next to a large tomato plant and a few greenish pumpkins.

Her platinum hair was swept to the side of her face in a messy plait, and she was clad in midnight blue pajamas. Harry also noticed that Luna was barefoot, the moist earth rising up between her pale toes.

"I thought about telling you yesterday that I was going to come by…. so that you wouldn't hex me, but then I remembered that you would pick a disarming spell before a harmful one… before figuring out who was rustling in the garden, that is."

Even after knowing Luna for so long, she still found ways to startle, confuse, and awe all of her friends, including Harry.

Rather than ask Luna exactly what she was doing, Harry ventured his best guess. "Looking for garden gnomes?"

"Well yes, sort of. At this time of year, and with this type of garden gnome, when the moon is waxing crescent, waning crescent, or full- like tonight- rings of silver-colored sediment become visible around their burrows."

Luna beckoned Harry closer to a small, empty spot next to her, between her right foot and the green pumpkins.

As Harry crouched down, he glimpsed a worn look in Luna's typically reflective, doe-like eyes, and guessed that she might not be awake at this hour just because she wanted to look at gnome rings.

"See?" Luna whispered as she carefully parted a wall of tomato plant leaves.

And Harry saw, from their spot in the Weasleys' garden, dozens and dozens of glowing silver rings of all sizes, some large and some very small, some overlapping each other and some more distant. When Harry shifted his weight, the rings seemed to glisten in the moonlight.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Luna said pointedly.

"Yeah," Harry agreed quietly.

"Does the sediment have any magical uses? Like gnome saliva?"

Luna shook her head, no.

"That's odd," Harry mused aloud, thinking back to some of the fairytales he'd heard in school before he went to Hogwarts. Things that glowed in the moonlight were usually hyper-magical or ominous, and Harry knew there was nothing particularly ominous about garden gnomes. "Why not?"

"My mom always liked to say… sometimes the beauty or wonder of something is magic enough."

Harry nodded silently in agreement, thinking back to the night on the Astronomy Tower's balcony, when Hermione had told him about the tents.

Luna and Harry sat for a time among tomatoes, eggplants, green pumpkins, and silver gnome rings, using the time not only to catch up on what the other had been up to, but also using the moment to enjoy the peaceful sounds of pre-dawn.

For some reason, Harry's thoughts traveled back to Ron and Hermione. He figured Luna was as good a person to ask as any.

"Luna, what do you think of Ron and Hermione?"

Harry didn't notice in the pale moonlight, but Luna's eyes darkened as she took time to consider Harry's question.

"Ron and Hermione? They're my good friends."

Harry wasn't sure, but he thought Luna might be avoiding the question. If Luna had to admit it, she was. While Ron and Hermione were great friends of hers, and she would support them no matter what, admittedly, in her point of view of what a loving relationship should be, she did not think Ron and Hermione a good pair.

"Why do you think they argue so much… even now that they're, uh, together?" Harry blushed. It felt awkward to talk about his best friends this way, but he wanted to help them, so they could be happy. He felt so clueless.

Luna looked at Harry, and like Ginny, realized Harry had very little understanding of what that kind of 'together' meant. So instead of answering his question, she asked her own.

"Do _you_ think Ron and Hermione are good together?"

Harry looked at her quizzically, wondering why she would ask that question. He hadn't really thought about Ron and Hermione's compatibility. They were his best friends, and if they felt they should be together, they should be.

"Sometimes when I'm sad, I think about my mother and father when they were together. My mum liked to experiment, and it made my dad nervous, but he always supported her and believed in her- and kept his mind open to learn from her. My dad's always loved to dance. My mom couldn't spot a rhythm, but she'd always dance with him, and grew to have fun doing it, too."

"Thinking about my mum and dad's relationship makes me smile."

Harry was lost now. Luna saw that, but also feel confident that Harry would understand, when he was ready.

"Compromise is hard, but when two people love each other, they learn how, and are better because of it."

Harry nodded, feeling more confused than ever about Ron and Hermione, but feeling a strange sense of relief in knowing that he could talk to Luna about these things, even if what she had to say perplexed him greatly.

As the blue moonlight eventually transformed to a yellow-orange glow that morning, Harry told Luna she could stop by any night, and that she should start coming by during the day, too.

Luna seemed very pleased with the invitation, and made good on it a number of times in the following weeks, whether it was for lunch, dinner, a playdate with Teddy, or just to say hello.

Harry was glad to have the extra company, and he was even more glad to see the tiredness leave Luna's eyes a little more with each visit to the Burrow.

Harry wasn't the only one in the house glad to have the extra company, as all of the Weasleys' spirits seemed lifted with each of Luna's visits. Luna had a way of reminding people of the importance and magic of everyday moments.

"Luna, you know, I thought you were a real nutter when we first met," Ron blurted out one night at dinner, admittedly after a butterbeer or two, to which Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Hermione, and even Mr. Weasley exclaimed in unison, "Ronald!"

"Would you let me finish!?" Ron retorted.

Harry snorted, thinking that Ron would undoubtedly make things worse, given the chance to finish his thought.

Teddy laughed in his highchair nearby.

"Oi," Ron glared at Harry and Teddy. "Even the kid's against me."

"It's all right Ron," Luna interjected calmly, nibbling on a piece of bread, "I don't mind people thinking that."

"Well I did think that, at first… but, what I was _about_ to say before I was so _rudely_ interrupted, was that I'm really glad that we became friends… all of us."

Harry remembered the colorful mural on Luna's bedroom ceiling. _Friends_ it said _._

 _I need to give Ron more credit sometimes,_ Harry thought. _But not too much credit._

That evening, any feeble exhaustion or fear that remained visible in Luna's eyes vanished for good.

Luna became a less frequent early morning visitor after that, and then she and her father left on a long-awaited month-long expedition to Sweden to look for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

Percy had also moved back into his own place in the meantime, and resumed a new position at the Ministry.

In late October, around the same time Luna and her dad left on their expedition, Hermione returned home full time to her parents. While the Weasleys agreed that it was probablely for the best that Hermione returned home, that Ron and Hermione would be fine after some time apart, Harry feared the separation would only prolong the negativity and misunderstandings that existed between them. He also missed her.

Soon after Hermione's departure, Ron began working full days at George's shop again, and Ginny's training with a rookie Quidditch team (whose captain supposedly had connections with the Holyhead Harpies) was in full swing.

With a recent promotion at work and plenty of grief to keep at bay, Mr. Weasley was also rarely at home, spending much of his time at the Ministry, or tinkering with more toaster clocks in his workshop.

With everyone so busy, Harry began to feel a bit strange living at the Burrow, his days spent having tea with Mrs. Weasley, degnoming the garden (the gnomes were really over-populating), watching Teddy while Andromeda worked at St. Mungo's, and flying around by himself over fields and ponds near the Burrow.

Throughout his time at Hogwarts, Harry often thought how much he would enjoy being alone more often, with plenty of time to just _be_ , but now that he _was_ so often alone and not doing much in the way of anything, he rather missed the company and felt he lacked a sense of purpose.

Harry had attempted to work with Ron at George's shop for a brief time, but found it extremely difficult to work when he was consistently bombarded by customers with questions about the War, his current relationship status, his plans for the future, and requests for pictures and autographs.

Ron, never one to feel uncomfortable in the spotlight, helped Harry immensely in these situations by deflecting people's attention, and assured Harry that the commotion would eventually die down.

George assured Harry that it was all great for business.

While Harry knew that Ron (and George too, in fact) were probably right, Harry did not want to spend his days in such a way, and decided that working in the shop was not for him.

Now, Harry faced the ever-present problem of having no idea what to do with himself. Even though he had Kingsley's job offer waiting for him, Harry wasn't ready to take it. He honestly wasn't sure if he'd ever _want_ to take it.

Hermione had offered him a place to stay in her parents' home, for a change of scenery, but Harry felt he could not impose on Hermione and her family, after they had been separated for so long.

Hermione understood his refusal; however, this did nothing to stem her frequent letters, floos, and general attempts to get him to stop by for a visit.

Harry knew the Weasleys wanted him to stay at the Burrow, but he felt as though he was in some way a drain on Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's resources.

Plus, Harry had to admit that he was becoming a bit exasperated by Ron, who in his rare free time seemed hyper-focused on how he was totally confused by Hermione's behavior, and lost on what to do.

While pondering this wide variety of thoughts at the Weasleys' kitchen table at two in the morning, Harry heard a series of creaks emanating from the floor above. Even now, after the War, Harry could not stop himself from viscerally gripping the handle of his wand in alarm, preparing for any potential threat.

When Harry heard the creaks slowly move toward the direction of the stairs, his self-control took over and he relaxed slightly, realizing that someone in the house must also be awake.

Harry knew he hadn't woken Ron, as Ron could sleep through a horde of screeching mandrakes, but Harry wondered if it was Mr. Weasley who'd awoken at such an unusual hour.

 _Please don't let it be Mr. Weasley_ , Harry thought rather guiltily.

It wasn't as if Harry's relationship with Mr. Weasley had changed drastically since the War, and it certainly wasn't as if Harry thought any less of the man he'd come to know as a father. Instead, Harry's previous "relationship" status with Ginny had somehow activated a side of Mr. Weasley that Harry could only liken to the man's relationship with anything Muggle-related: obsessive.

Mr. Weasley had basically become enthralled over the notion that his only daughter was in a romantic relationship with the one man in the universe whom he felt truly deserved her.

Encouraged by his own belief, Mr. Weasley had let his imagination run a bit wild, even going so far as to discuss wedding plans and future grandchildren with Harry.

Of course, these conversations made Harry extremely uncomfortable. More painfully, these conversations also prompted Harry to feel extremely guilty, knowing that his relationship with Ginny was, at this point, truly one of only close friendship.

Harry, Ginny, and even Ron were initially shocked that Mr. Weasley was acting in such a way, as the three had expected the behavior from his significant other. In any case, Harry, remaining shocked, had no idea how to handle this side of Mr. Weasley.

In contrast, Ginny and Ron (who at this point also knew that Ginny and Harry's relationship was decidedly one of friendship) had come to find Mr. Weasley's behavior more amusing than anything else. Harry quite suspected that they enjoyed watching Harry become blatantly uncomfortable and embarrassed whenever Mr. Weasley and Harry were in the same room. Mr. Weasley seemed none the wiser.

Harry's discomfort only worsened whenever Ginny and Ron would play along with Mr. Weasley's notions; Ron would often start listing ridiculous wedding themes (everything from a Tri-Wizard Tournament theme where guests would compete for the seats closest to the bride and groom, to a Quidditch theme where everyone would dress like their favorite Quidditch player, at which point Ginny would chime in with, "I call Krum!"

Harry found it odd that Mr. Weasley did not find this comment suspicious in the least.

Ginny would often pretend to decide names for their future children (an opportunity which she would also use to make Mr. Weasley tear up with joy with names like Arthur Ronald Potter and James Sirius Potter).

Again, Harry found it all very discomforting.

With this discomfort in mind, Harry was relieved to find that it was Mrs. Weasley, not Mr. Weasley, joining him in the kitchen so early in the morning, even if she was rather disheveled looking.

"Harry dear, put on some tea, would you?"

"How did you know it was me?" Harry asked from the dark, rising from his seat to put the kettle on.

"A mother always knows."

Mrs. Weasley sat at the kitchen table and lit a candle to brighten the room while Harry tended to the tea.

With the room now lit with more than the blue glow from the moon, Harry saw, out of the corner of his eye, that Mrs. Weasley was wringing her hands nervously, anxiously looking at the family clock. Harry peered at the clock, and noticed that Fred's hand was still stuck on 'mortal peril'.

Shaking his head, Harry wondered how no one else had noticed it, and made a note to himself to ask Hermione for help to switch Fred's hand to the 'home' position.

"I've had some trouble sleeping since the War, like most people I'm sure, but I've this awful dream that every hand on the clock suddenly points to "mortal peril'…"

Harry let Mrs. Weasley continue, not really knowing how to comfort her.

"Then I hear V-Voldemort and Bellatrix… and the hands all point to 'dead.'"

Harry listened, quietly setting mugs on the table and fixing tea the way he knew Mrs. Weasley preferred.

"And I wake up and I know it's a silly dream… so silly- and I think 'the War is over, everyone is safe.' But… but then I remember- Fred," Mrs. Weasley sniffled loudly then, and Harry saw tears stream down her face.

Feeling uncomfortable with this open display of sadness, he looked down at his tea, but cautiously placed his hand on top of her trembling one.

Harry didn't know what else to do to make Mrs. Weasley feel better (he suspected that he really couldn't do much), but he silently handed her a napkin from a pile in the center of the table, still unable to look her in the eyes.

"Thank you dear," Mrs. Weasley said as she dabbed at her face and proceeded to blow her nose.

""Look at me, I'm a mess. I'm sorry you have to see this Harry."

"It's okay, Mrs. Weasley. I wish- I wish there was something I could do."

"I know, it's quite all right. Besides, it's gotten a little easier, especially with everyone not far away and keeping busy."

Harry was glad to hear it. He knew Mrs. Weasley put up a good front, but he'd been too afraid to ask her how she'd truly been feeling lately.

Mrs. Weasley sniffled again, and gently patted the back of Harry's hand. Harry looked up cautiously, afraid she may be crying again, but saw that she had a small smile on her face.

A short time passed in silence, as Harry and Molly sipped tea in candlelight.

"Now Harry," Molly began, her voice no longer sad, "seeing that we're both up and Arthur's asleep, I think we need to have a little chat."

Harry gulped audibly, fearing that he had misread Mrs. Weasley's acceptance of the end of his and Ginny's relationship.

"Harry, you know that you always have a home here, no matter what, and that Arthur and I think of you as a son. But we wouldn't be good parents if we didn't start helping you think about your future."

"Now before you say anything, I know that you and Ginny are no longer- involved- and while I would've loved to see you both happy together, I understand that not every relationship works the way you expect it. Why, before Aurthur, there was a man…" Seeing Harry's mortified look, Molly spared him.

"Well, that's no matter," Mrs. Weasley laughed, "Arthur on the other hand- I'm really so apologetic for his behavior- he's having such a hard time letting his youngest child- and only daughter- go. In Arthur's mind she was safe and sheltered with you, and without you he thinks she's out in the wide world on her own."

"I know Mrs. Weasley, I-"

"No need to apologize Harry, truly, a lot of this is Arthur's grief, the good man… but you'll see. He'll be all right eventually… I'll bring him to his senses."

Mrs. Weasley smirked playfully then, and gave Harry a quick wink.

"But about you, Harry. I know it's been challenging living here the last couple of weeks-"

"Mrs. Weasley, I love living here-"

"Oh hush, I didn't mean it like that. I only meant that I can tell that you'd like to start thinking of more permanent places, or maybe where you'd feel more useful?"

"Yeah, I… I've thought about maybe getting my own flat. I have money saved and it might be good to have a place of my own."

"Quite right. That would be nice… but won't you be lonely, having a big flat all to yourself after living at school for so long, and then here, where there are always people around?"

Harry imagined himself alone, in an empty flat, not knowing what to do with himself, or how to spend his days. The thought reminded him of how he used to live at the Dursley's. Harry shuddered.

"Have you given any thought to living with Andromeda? I know that she would love to go back to her job at St. Mungo's full-time, especially with all the new cases from the War… it helps to keep her busy from thinking about… Well, it sounds like she may have a promotion on the way… and Merlin knows she could use help with Teddy… and you're his godfather, after all. That might be nice."

Mrs. Weasley sipped her tea again then, letting Harry mull it over.

After listening to Mrs. Weasley's suggestion, he immediately knew that this "suggestion"- Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda's plan- was some time in the making. Harry was not annoyed by this, however.

Instead, he felt warmed at the thought that Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda cared about him enough to help him decide what to do next with his life.

"Mrs. Weasley, I love spending time with Teddy, but I don't really know anything about taking care of kids," Harry said very seriously, concerned that he would be an ill choice for a caretaker.

Mrs. Weasley's smile spread across her face to the corners of her eyes as she chuckled, "Oh, Harry, no one really knows anything about childcare! Heaven knows how all my children turned out okay- well, there was that one time with Percy, but never you mind that! I know you'll be wonderful. Plus, Andromeda and I won't be far, and I'm sure Ron and Hermione could give you a hand when you need it."

"More importantly," Mrs. Weasley continued sincerely, "I think Andromeda would really like the company. She and Teddy are quite alone- it would be a welcomed change."

Harry nodded. He would much rather spend his time doing something to help someone he cared about than spend it on himself, aimlessly trying to figure out what to do with his spare time. Plus, the promise he'd made to Remus the night he faced Voldemort for the final time was always present in the forefront of his mind.

Harry envisioned himself spending his days with Teddy, playing and attempting to teach Teddy a thing or two. He could help give Teddy the childhood he'd never gotten himself.

"Well, as long as they have the space, and they want me there. I think I'd really like that."

After finishing their tea, he and Mrs. Weasley tiredly ambled back up the stairs to their respective rooms.

As Harry reached the door to the room he shared with Ron, he whispered, "Thanks Mrs. Weasley, I- I really appreciate it."

"Oh, Harry, think nothing of it. What are mothers for?"

As Harry pulled the sheets up over him in his small twin-sized bed, feeling a renewed sense of purpose and anticipation, he had only positive feelings about things to come.


	4. Chapter 4 - Godfather

November

Hermione and Ron helped Harry move into his new room at Andromeda's one blustery afternoon at the start of the last week of November.

As Harry stepped into his new room on the second floor of Andromeda's cozy home, it was apparent that Andromeda had provided him with all the things required to resemble his old room in Gryffindor Tower… as much as humanly possible. She had even gone so far as to match the linens and curtains on his new four-poster bed to the Gryffindor red that was now covering the walls.

His new bedroom also contained a fireplace, albeit a very small one, in one corner, a modest wooden wardrobe, and some pictures from Harry's photo album Andromeda had asked Mrs. Weasley and Hermione to procure and frame for the mantle above the fireplace.

"Is it all right, Harry?" Andromeda asked tentatively as Harry unpacked one of his many Weasley Christmas sweaters from the trunk at the foot of his bed. Looking up at all the Gryffindor red, Harry amused himself by thinking that he might look like a floating 'H' should he decide to wear one of the crimson sweaters he was currently putting away.

"I tried to make it as comfortable for you as possible," Andromeda continued, not noticing Harry's small smile, "it used to be our guest room, neon yellow walls and orange furniture, Nymphadora's choices of course, I'm not sure how we let that happen, but I'd say it's cleaned up to make pretty cozy quarters." Harry didn't miss the wavering in her voice when she spoke of Tonks.

"It's perfect 'Dromeda, but you didn't have to go through all the trouble," Harry said honestly, all joking aside.

"It's no trouble, we're happy to have you here! Right Teddy?" She asked Teddy exuberantly, as he happily drooled in Hermione's arms nearby.

The baby boy squealed in response, making everyone in the room laugh.

"It'll be great when he starts talking and walking more," Ron said.

"Great, or tornado-like, if he's anything like his mum," 'Dromeda responded fondly.

Harry had to agree, remembering how joyful, and how clumsy, Tonks had been.

"I bet you'll be a wild one, won't you" Hermione spoke playfully to Teddy, gently tickling his belly.

"And with Harry as your godfather," Ron added.

"Maybe not the wildest, but definitely the fastest on a broomstick," Harry said proudly.

"When can he start flying!?" Ron chimed in, the anticipation clear in his voice.

"Hermione, with these two around, you'd better come by _a lot_. His genes are working against him, not to mention. You'll have to help even him out, you know… help knock _some_ sense into him."

"Well he's bound to have some of Remus' sensibility, too," Andromeda added, and everyone fell quiet for a moment, as the room filled with memory.

After the moment passed, Hermione smiled and said, "I don't think even my efforts will stop these two. But I'll have to start reading Teddy _Hogwarts, A History_."

Harry and Ron both rolled their eyes and groaned in unison, to which Hermione responded with a sarcastic, raspberry-like sound, which Teddy then promptly imitated.

"See, Teddy agrees," said Hermione confidently.

"He won't once he's seen the new Firebolt," Ron snapped back playfully.

Andromeda proceeded to exclaim, "Boys and their broomsticks, I'll never understand! Although, Nymphadora was the same way… even if she was always flying into birds and branches and… well now that I think of it, she seemed to fall off a lot, too."

That evening, after they had unpacked all of Harry's things, which didn't take long, considering the minute amount of items that were Harry's possessions, Ron and Hermione decided to stay for Wizard's chess, a pleasant dinner of stew (courtesy of Andromeda), and company.

Harry decided that he would be happy if he could spend every night in such a way, especially with Ron and Hermione seeming to be on such good terms.

While Ron served everyone a bit of the cake Mrs. Weasley had entrusted to him earlier that day, Hermione cautiously ventured that she'd been reading about metamorphamagi children.

Harry could tell that she was treading lightly on the subject, not wanting to stir any painful feelings in Andromeda's heart.

"I've been reading about metamorphamagi children, and Teddy is definitely one of them."

"Isn't that obvious? I've seen him with red hair and freckles more times than I can count," Ron said, referring to the way Teddy would change his appearance.

"Some babies of metamorphamagi parents may present like metamorphamagi, but are really just magical children who show a talent for transfiguration," Andromeda explained calmly.

Hermione took Andromeda's comment as a sign that it was okay to continue with the topic.

"That's right. The difference with true metamorphamagi children is that their transfigurations follow a typical pattern, depending on the person or the object they are imitating, or the idea they are trying to communicate."

"What d'you mean, Hermione?" Harry asked, intrigued, especially now that he would be spending more time with Teddy.

"Well, have you noticed that Teddy changes his appearance whenever he is uncomfortable, upset, or with someone he's not familiar with?"

Harry and Andromeda nodded, but Ron continued to look perplexed.

"He doesn't have control of it yet, but I noticed that when he was first getting to know me, his hair would always turn the same shade of brown as mine."

"And really bushy, too," Harry interjected, smiling.

"Yes, Harry, thank you for the valuable observation," Hermione retorted playfully.

"Whenever he wants a certain toy around the house, and I'm not sure exactly which one he wants, his skin always turns the same color as the toy," Andromeda explained.

"So you're saying that if he wants that green stuffed toad over there, he'll turn green?" Ron asked, looking more than a little grossed out, perhaps reminded of his slug incident during second year.

"Sort of. He will resort to it only after I didn't understand some other way he tried to communicate, when he gets frustrated that he wasn't understood."

"This is all good to know," Harry said, suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed at the thought of taking care of Teddy more frequently.

"Don't worry Harry, it won't take long for you to learn how Teddy communicates."

"Is that a good or a bad thing?" Harry asked worriedly.

Ron scoffed, and Hermione gave him a look.

"A good thing," Andromeda reassured kindly, "you'll be like quill and parchment in no time."

"Plus, you'll have us, mate. I'm pretty sure most kids love me." Ron assured.

Teddy, who was seated in his high chair at the end of the table babbled in response, as if agreeing with everyone's reassurances.

"If you think so, Teddy," Harry responded, prompting Teddy to babble more.

"Want to try some?" Andromeda asked Teddy sweetly, reaching across the table with the fork she had used to spear a small bite of cake.

"If Ron's left any," Harry joked. Mocking Ron's relationship with food never got old.

"Hilarious, Harry. Real original."

"He's got a point, Ron," Hermione said, trying to stifle a wide smile.

"That's it! I'm going into the other room to eat my pudding in peace," Ron said, not truly offended, as he slid back his chair and sarcastically stomped toward the living room, taking the rest of the cake with him.

Harry, Hermione, and Andromeda burst out laughing.

"I'm glad some things never change," Andromeda said, wiping away a tear of joy.

Harry nodded and looked to Hermione. She was smiling, but some of the light and sincerity had left her eyes.

"Hermione?"

"What? Oh, sorry. I was just remembering- I'll bring you the book to read about metamorphamagi. That way, you can help Teddy build his skills."

"I wish I had done that with Nymphadora when she was still very young- it would have made life much easier for both of us."

"Sounds great, but I can't promise I'll be the best teacher."

Andromeda chimed in before Hermione could, "For Teddy, I think you'll be just what he needs."

The room grew silent then, as thoughts of Tonks, Remus, James, and Lily entered their minds.

Thankfully, the silence was soon interrupted by Ron's whine calling from the living room, "Oi! Are you all really going to let me finish this on my own?"

Sometime after supper (and dessert), as promised, Hermione pulled _Hogwarts, A History_ from her bag (to which Ron hilariously exclaimed, "Do you honestly carry that thing wherever you go!?") to read to Teddy before bed.

After a reading from _Hogwarts, A History,_ and settling the little metamorphamagus into bed, Hermione and Ron prepared to leave.

"I don't think I've ever seen Teddy fall asleep so fast," Harry said to Hermione as Ron was thanking Andromeda for dinner.

"Ha, ha, Harry," Hermione said sarcastically, holding back a smile.

Changing the subject, Hermione asked, "You're coming to my house next week, right? I already cleared it through the proper avenues."

"You mean Teddy?" Ron kidded. "I don't know, I think he's got some serious napping and drooling time blocked out in Harry's schedule."

Surprised by Hermione and amused by Ron, Harry turned to Andromeda, who was now nearly asleep on the couch, for approval. She merely raised her arm lazily, waved her hand, and said, rather flatly, "Yes, go to Hermione's Harry. She's been pestering me for days."

"Teddy will save his snot for when you get back," Ron interjected.

"Is Ron coming?"

Harry saw Hermione's face become serious.

"No, Harry. Ron spent over a month with me and my parents. You have yet to spend any proper time with them. You've never even been to my house! They won't rest until they get to know you personally, not just from my letters… and I don't blame them," Hermione's voice and expression had somehow hardened.

"Yeah, mate," Ron chimed in, "when we were in Australia they wouldn't stop asking about you."

"Sorry, Hermione, I- I didn't mean anything by it. I know you've been asking me to come by- I just wanted to make sure you had enough time back with your parents."

Hermione's expression and tone softened as she replied, "I know Harry, thank you. I just know they'll be so pleased to finally get to know you in person."

As Hermione moved to hug him goodbye, Harry was transported to cold, uncertain nights in the Forest of Dean, as he noticed that the dark circles and pale complexion of the War, and the summer, had not yet left Hermione's face. Hugging her, Harry also noticed how thin she felt, as if a strong breeze might knock her over. Her usual vice-like embrace seemed to be diminished to a whisper. He made a mental note to ask her about it the next time they were together.

 _At least she's on better terms with Ron these days_ , Harry thought, thinking that it had been a while since they last argued, and seeing their hands entwine just before disapparating.

Apart from carefully extracting a chunk of rice cereal from Teddy's nose one morning, the first few days Harry spent living with Teddy and Andromeda were relatively uneventful.

Andromeda began working at St. Mungo's full time, sometimes during the day and sometimes at night. Harry spent his time playing, feeding, and just generally taking care of Teddy.

Then, an owl arrived.

The owl arrived one morning during one of Teddy's many naps. The owl was very large, with wings so vibrant and black that they appeared midnight blue. Its yellow eyes stood out against its black wings like the moon in the night sky, and seemed to look through you, not at you.

By the owl's size and natural night-time camouflage, Harry thought that it must be accustomed to flying long distances quite often, and perhaps for missions requiring a bit of stealth.

Harry's thoughts about the owl were eventually confirmed as he read the letter, which looked no larger than a miniature-sized Ministry memo when compared to the grandeur of the owl.

 _Hi Harry,_

 _Have you ever seen an owl like this one? His name is Zephyr. It's Randolph Spudmore's (the man who invented the Firebolt, in case you forget) personal owl. He told me that he uses it to communicate with professional Quidditch players all over the world- to deliver their custom broomsticks or just to "catch up" (his words, not mine). Little pompous if you ask me._

 _Anyway, you're the first person I'm telling because I know you'll be so happy, but also because I want to save it as a surprise for everyone else when I come home next week... I've been drafted by the Holyhead Harpies! Their scouts came by yesterday during one of our scrimmages, and they asked me to join the team. I'll be second string of course, but starting players get injured so often, I know I'll get a lot of playing time once the season gets going. Training starts right after New Years, and matches start in March- can you believe it!?_

A wide smile spread across Harry's face as he read Ginny's wonderful news; he even did a little dance of joy, as if her excitement was transferred through the parchment. Part of him was amazed at the short time it took for Ginny to get the attention she was looking for- and from her dream team- but then he remembered that it was _Ginny_ who was fierce, and talented, and wouldn't let anything get in her way.

 _That's why I'm using Spudmore's owl because his team of "nerds" (his words) is waiting for me to finish writing this letter to you so they can fit me with my very own Firebolt X – apparently all professional teams who have a contract with Spudmore fit their players with custom brooms._

 _So I was here talking to Spudmore who was congratulating me on being drafted, and I remembered that you just moved in with Teddy and Dromeda, and I haven't had the chance to get you a housewarming gift… so I asked Spud if he would be interested in making you a custom broom, too._

 _And of course he said yes, Harry, once he knew who I was asking for, and told me to use his parchment and his owl and his quill and even his tears of joy as ink to send you the offer, well maybe not so much the last bit… and so… well, here it is!_

 _If you're interested in the broom, write a letter back to Spudmore… honestly, he was giddy at the thought of fitting you with a Firebolt X, so you probably should write back regardless or he'll be liable to nosedive into an unfathomably deep depression._

Harry laughed out loud at Ginny's joke, glad that she would be returning home soon for Christmas, and excited at the prospect of a new broom.

 _I hope everything is going well with you and Teddy and Dromeda, and that you like your new home! I'll see you very soon!_

 _Love,_

 _Ginny_

 _P.S. Remember, don't tell anyone the news, I want it to be a surprise!_

While Harry hated any special treatment that came from being _Harry Potter_ , he could not resist the urge to have his very own Firebolt X, especially after flying around for the past few months on one of the Weasleys' old, wonky, and battered broomsticks.

Harry's first thought was to use this opportunity to get Ron and George Firebolt X's too. What good would that level of broom be if he couldn't share it with his best mates? He wrote a quick note (politely asking if he could bring a few of his friends along, with maybe a few X's to share as well) to Spudmore immediately after he finished writing Ginny a thankful and congratulatory letter.

After Harry attached his response letters to Ginny and Spudmore to one of Zephyr's legs, the regal owl spread its' wings, bowed, and took off silently through Andromeda's large kitchen window.

Harry wondered when he would be able to get new brooms for himself, Ron, and George, and if maybe he would be able to get a toddler-sized broom for Teddy, too.

The following afternoon, as Harry was attempting to feed Teddy some horrible-looking (and smelling) baby food, another owl arrived.

While this owl was typically-sized and tawny, the letter it carried was no less interesting than the letter Zephyr had delivered the previous day. In fact, it was probably more so. Harry noticed immediately that the owl was also carrying a small, worn navy blue book. Harry figured it must be the book on metamorphamagi children Hermione had promised to give him.

Trying not to smear the parchment with any of the meal Teddy had disdainfully repudiated onto Harry, he unrolled the letter, intrigued.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _I'm not sure if this letter will ever reach you. I left it on the windowsill of your old bedroom at Privet Drive. I couldn't think of any other way to reach you._

 _But if this letter does get to you, here is what I want to say._

 _I want to say sorry for the hell my family put you through growing up, especially what I put you through. I know a letter can't make up for it, but I guess it's the only place for me to start. There's no way I expect you to forgive me, because I don't think I could forgive anyone who treated me like I treated you._

 _I'm writing this letter to say that I hope you're okay. The scary stuff that was happening a year ago in the news isn't really happening as much anymore, so I figure something must have ended._

 _You probably won't care because you have no reason to care- I mean, you shouldn't care- but mum and dad moved to southern France to retire and lead a "simpler" life. I think my dad's nerves are pretty shot, but I guess he deserves much worse. I moved back to Privet Drive this summer to get the house ready to be sold._

 _When I was cleaning out the attic, I found an old photo album of mum's, and a lot of the pictures inside are of my mum when she was little. I think your mum is in them, too, but I'm not sure. I left the album on the windowsill with this letter. I hope that the pictures mean something to you._

 _I'm renting a flat in London now, and I'm working as a builder for Wates Construction. It'd be nice if you want to meet up sometime for a pint. I'm sure you know how to contact me more than I know how to contact you._

 _Like I said before, I'm sorry, and I hope you and your friends are okay._

 _Dudley_

After reading Dudley's letter, Harry was speechless, even though a million thoughts ran through his mind. The last thing he ever expected to happen after the War was for Dudley to write him, and here he was, not only writing to him, but attempting to make some kind of amends.

Harry was suddenly alleviated from his shock when Teddy began to cry. Harry saw that the boy, whose skin was now a worn shade of navy blue, was straining to reach for the old navy blue photo album Dudley had sent.

"Sorry, Teddy, you can see it later."

Even though Harry told Teddy he could see the album later, Harry spent the rest of the day only peering at the closed photo album out of the corner of his eye, unable to bring himself to open it.

Dudley wrote that he wasn't sure if Lily was in any of the pictures, and Harry used this piece of information to convince himself he was avoiding the album because he didn't want to get his hopes up.

In truth, Harry couldn't bring himself to open the album, not for the fear of his mother being absent from the pictures, but for the fear of a photo of a younger version of Snape, the version of Snape who Harry had seen through the pensieve on the night of the Final Battle, being present among the photographs.

Harry decided he would wait to open the album until he was sure he was ready to accept Snape's memories as what they truly were- a series of events that both had and hadn't happened in the past, events that had shaped Harry's entire life… the story of Severus and Lily.

Harry slipped Dudley's letter and the album into a drawer in the small desk in his room.

"Until I'm ready," Harry whispered to himself, in an attempt to justify his actions.


	5. Chapter 5 - Scrabble, Secrets, Screams

A/N: I hope Hermione's parents are not too cringeworthy- I tired to make them realistic. Thanks for reading!

/

December, Part I

A week after moving in with Andromeda and Teddy, Harry took a portkey Hermione had enchanted from Andromeda's to visit Hermione and her parents, as promised.

Ginny's news, Spudmore's offer, Dudley's letter, the photo album, and Spudmore's reply (which had been alarmingly prompt, and in the affirmative regarding all of Harry's requests) now far from his mind, Harry felt utterly out of place, watching his breath rise in the cold December air, carrying a container full of chocolate biscuits, walking down the neat cobblestone lane on which the Grangers' house resided.

"It's terribly rude to visit someone's home empty-handed," Andromeda informed Harry the evening prior, as Harry, covered in flour and butter, complained baking was not his forte, even _with_ the aid of the simple cooking spells Andromeda had taught him. Harry thought that the spells might've actually been a disservice, as baking the Muggle way tended to be a bit more predictable for a novice like him.

"These are going to be terrible."

"It's the thought that counts, right Teddy?" Andromeda turned to the boy, who was sitting happily in his highchair, watching the chaos unfold.

He gurgled in response, as if Harry's struggle brought him some kind of joy.

Harry simply gave the boy a playful glare.

At any rate, the biscuits hadn't turned out half so bad as Harry had dreaded, so fortunately, they were one less thing to worry about as he nervously approached the Grangers' front steps.

Harry had never given much thought to how seeing Hermione's parents again, for more than a quick conversation in Diagon Alley, might make him feel, but now that the day was here, he easily recognized the emotion: terror.

It wasn't Hermione's parents themselves who frightened him per se, as he was sure (based on the character of their one and only offspring) that they were thoughtful, bright, and accepting people; rather, he was fearful of any resentment or anger Mr. and Mrs. Granger might hold for putting their only child in mortal peril (and not just _any_ mortal peril, the truly agonizing and gruesome type) time after time throughout her adolescence.

 _"_ _Mum, Dad,"_ Harry maniacally imagined Hermione saying, as if she was some ghastly figure burning forth from one of Voldemort's horcruxes, _"You remember Harry, right? The boy who, against my much better judgement, led me into a trap set by Voldemort to have us all killed? Who dragged me around the freezing English countryside for months? Who prompted me to steal an innocent person's identity for a piece of jewelry stolen by a Cruciatus-loving government official?"_

These dark thoughts pestered Harry the night prior, interrupting his more typical nightmares.

Another crazed scenario, one among many, entered his mind- one where he pictured Mr. and Mrs. Granger asking Hermione incredulously, whilst spitting out his disgusting chocolate biscuits, no less, _"You erased our memories, ruined Hermione's youth, and risked all of our lives for this!?"_ Referring not to the biscuits of course, but Harry himself.

If Harry had to choose, he wasn't sure which nightmare he preferred.

Harry knew these thoughts were off-base on so many levels, firstly because he knew Hermione risked her life not just for him on a ridiculous number of occasions, but to fight against Voldemort, to fight for _good_ ; however, the fear and guilt nagged at him even as he mustered the wherewithal to ring the doorbell, and especially as Hermione's mum opened the door to greet him cheerfully.

"Hello, Harry!" Mrs. Granger greeted Harry kindly as she embraced him. If it weren't for catching a glimpse of her face first, Harry would have sworn it was Hermione back to her normal self, giving him one of her usual all-encompassing, hair-flying-everywhere hugs.

As he awkwardly returned Mrs. Granger's hug, Harry remembered that he had not seen Hermione's parents since the start of his second year at Hogwarts; he'd only met them briefly then, and recalled how they were so nervous and out of place in Diagon Alley.

 _I'm the nervous one now_ , Harry thought.

"Hi, Mrs. Granger," Harry said quietly as Hermione's mum stepped back to release him.

"Please, come in."

As Harry stepped over the threshold, a voice in his mind idly thought, _no turning back now_.

"Mum?" Harry heard Hermione call from upstairs. "Is that Harry?"

"Yes, dear. Why don't you come down?"

"One minute!" Hermione called back.

Mrs. Granger shot a concerned look over her shoulder, in the direction of the staircase, but recovering quickly said, "How are you, Harry? Hermione's told me that you've moved in with your godson and his grandmother?"

"Yeah, it's been great so far, but I've only just moved."

As Hermione's mum smiled in response, there was a brief moment of silence that Harry, out of nerves, felt compelled to fill.

Gesturing feebly to the biscuit tin still in his grasp, "I brought chocolate biscuits."

 _What. An. Idiot._ Harry thought to himself in a tone reminiscent of Hermione's first-year chiding.

"Harry," Mr. Granger said as he appeared in the front hall to greet him, making his way from a room Harry could see was the kitchen, "you can relax. We aren't going to bite. Not _you_ anyway… I can't make any promises for the biscuits." Mr. Granger then proceeded to open the tin and pop a biscuit in his mouth.

"Mmm."

 _Mr. Granger looks like Hermione, too_ , Harry thought, looking at the thin, slightly taller than average, brown-haired man with kind features, _Hermione looks like both of her parents. Great observation, really, Harry, groundbreaking,_ Harry thought sarcastically to himself, in a tone that reminded him of his red-headed best friend.

 _I wish he was here_ , Harry mused, still thinking it was odd to be here without Ron, especially when Ron and Hermione were supposedly- _together_ \- now.

Instead of ruminating further, Harry chuckled politely at Mr. Granger's pun and the compliment, "Thanks, Mr. Granger."

"Don't mind Mr. Granger's jokes, Harry, they're a bit… stale," Mrs. Granger said, not unkindly.

"My jokes seem to go over well with the kids at work."

"How can you possibly tell when they have a mouth full of mirrors and gauze?"

Unfazed by his wife's playful retort, Mr. Granger beckoned to Harry, "Come on into the living room. There are some wonderfully embarrassing pictures of Hermione in here."

"I heard that!" Hermione called from upstairs.

Harry tried, unsuccessfully, to hold back a smile. _Maybe she_ is _back to normal_ , Harry hoped, thinking that maybe Mrs. Weasley was right when she said that once Hermione was back at home with her parents all would be well.

Mr. Granger then led the way into a cozy, semi- wood-paneled room directly beside the front hall.

"I'm going to apologize for Hermione, it's been so difficult to get her out of her room lately," Mrs. Granger said, a hint of worry, not unnoticed by Harry, in her voice.

 _Maybe not,_ Harry thought grimly, again considering Hermione.

"I've found it's best not to interrupt her, she's probably in the middle of a book," Harry tried to lighten the mood.

"You do know our daughter then," Mr. Granger nodded approvingly.

"I think you'd have to be pretty clueless to miss that Hermione loves to read," Harry said kindly.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger simply smiled, and nodded at one another.

"When Ron was here he asked me quite specifically to show you this picture first," Mrs. Granger said as she beckoned Harry over to a long, narrow table pushed up against a wall. Harry could see at a glance that it was covered with framed photos of Hermione.

Harry immediately recognized the time and place of the picture Mrs. Granger handed him; it was a photo of Hermione in the Muggle portion of Kings Cross the day she left for Hogwarts for the first time.

While she looked just like he remembered her- bushy hair flying every which way, her brown eyes bright, and her smile confident- he was surprised to realize how much Hermione's physical appearance had changed since then. In the grand scheme of life, it wasn't all that long ago, but it felt like another lifetime.

 _I must look much older too, after everything._

"She was so excited to go to Hogwarts, and nervous too of course, but she had such great expectations," Hermione's mum said nostalgically as she placed the picture and its frame back on the table.

"We all did," interjected Mr. Granger, "for Hermione and for the school."

Harry was surprised to hear that Hermione was nervous to come to Hogwarts, but then again, he'd never really thought about what it must have been like for her, being Muggle-born, an only child, and entering a whole new, unknown world. He wondered if maybe she had felt a lot like he had.

"I bet you knew that she would be top of her class," Harry said, remembering the 'Occulus Reparo!' Hermione performed on their first Hogwarts Express journey, now over seven years ago.

"Well, yes," Mrs. Granger said, her reminiscent tone becoming more serious, "we always knew Hermione would do well academically… but we had other expectations."

Seeing the worry in Harry's face, Mrs. Granger quickly interjected, "Oh, Harry, excuse us, we aren't implying anything negative about you… no, quite the contrary actually," Mrs. Granger smiled.

"What Jeanne means is that we expected Hogwarts to be the place where Hermione finally fit in, where she would be able to make friends."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, glad to know that Mr. and Mrs. Granger did not think Harry had prevented their daughter from reaching her full potential or fulfilling their expectations.

The relief was quickly replaced by a different form of guilt, however, as Harry recalled that Hermione's first weeks at Hogwarts had not been pleasant, and had certainly not been spent in the company of new friends.

He'd never bothered to ask about Hermione's life before Hogwarts, but he'd never imagined that it could have been a very lonely one, as her parents now seemed to imply.

Harry remembered his own solitary times on the playground at Muggle school, the jeers and whispered judgements of other children, the isolation of the cupboard under the stairs. The thought that Hermione may have gone through similar isolating experiences in her youth and during her first year at Hogwarts made him feel physically ill. No one deserved that, least of all Hermione.

Harry looked at the numerous picture frames displayed before him, and realized that none of them contained photographs of Hermione with other children, as if confirming his fears.

He wondered why it had taken him until now to realize that the same first impressions that drove Ron and many others away from befriending Hermione during their first year at Hogwarts must also have driven Muggle children away as well.

 _It's no wonder Hermione and I became such good friends,_ Harry thought, _we had so much in common._

Upon closer inspection of the table with the photographs, Harry also noticed that the great majority of the photos were of a Hermione who appeared younger than eleven years old.

 _Of course most of the pictures are of Hermione before she started Hogwarts_ , Harry thought, again feeling a mixture of shame, guilt, and realization, _she hasn't seen her parents much since then._

These realizations only deepened Harry's guilt, he couldn't believe he had never asked much about his best friend's life before Hogwarts; an important period in Hermione's life which Harry had, until now, carelessly ignored. _I'm not even sure if she has any other family… like cousins… or grandparents._

Plus, Harry observed, beginning to feel like the worst friend in existence, he had never been sensitive to the fact that in many ways, Hermione lived for seven years with limited direct contact and interaction with her loving parents.

 _She was even an orphan for a while…_ A nagging voice in the back of his head whispered, adding to his regret. _She was alone, like me,_ Harry realized, and remembered their time in the woods and Godric's Hollow, after Ron left.

"We've always seen Hermione as the brilliant, brave, and kind person she is, but you see, Hermione was always a bit… _different_ from other children her age. She had a lot of trouble making friends in school."

"That's what it was like for me, too," Harry said, and again Hermione's parents shared a look, this time, a look Harry recognized that said they already knew.

"So we were all very excited when we learned about Hermione's acceptance to Hogwarts, Hermione most of all. We thought that children at a special school must also be different, so they would finally see what we saw in her."

"So you can imagine how worried we were when Hermione's first owl came home, when she wrote that the people at Hogwarts were just like the students at all her old schools."

"She even asked us if she could come home."

"But they wrote back and told me to keep working hard in classes, and to just be myself… that eventually, someone would like me just the way I am," Hermione's voice suddenly filled the room as she appeared in the doorway and took a seat next to her dad on the sofa.

"We did," Hermione's mum beamed, meeting Harry's eyes, "it wasn't very long after that letter when we learned all about you, Harry."

"Me?" Harry questioned.

"Well, you and a troll in the loo… but yes, you were the only other student Hermione wrote more than a sentence or two about for quite some time."

"What about Ron?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Of course I wrote about Ron… I just didn't have very many nice things to say about him," Hermione laughed.

Harry joined in her laughter, remembering how Hermione and Ron's long-term relationship with bickering had begun.

"Mum and Dad didn't like Ron very much that year, but they believed me when I came home for the summer after first year and told them that he has a good heart, that he became my good friend."

Harry nodded knowingly, remembering the events that had not only brought the trio together, but solidified their friendship.

"But you were Hermione's first true friend, Harry…" Mr. Granger began.

"And what we're trying to say…" Mrs. Granger continued.

"To get the emotional stuff out of the way," Mr. Granger interjected with a wave of his hand.

"…we just want to thank you for always being a friend to Hermione. We know that you have protected her from unthinkable evils during your time at school, and even saved her life… but we are most grateful for you appreciating and befriending Hermione just for who she is."

Harry couldn't formulate a response, not even an incoherent one.

"You have no idea how long they've wanted to tell you that, Harry," Hermione added.

Harry didn't quite know how to react to Mr. and Mrs. Granger's compliments, especially because he was now feeling as if he'd been a rather shoddy friend to Hermione all of these years, and because he knew he deserved no praise.

Especially when _Hermione_ had been the good friend, the one who stuck by him all those years no matter what, no matter how much of a git he was being, or how much danger he put them in.

He wanted to tell them how he felt, but all he could do was smile sheepishly, and meet Hermione's eyes in an attempt to avoid either of her parent's gaze.

Luckily, a chiming from the direction of the kitchen interrupted the moment.

"That'll be the roast!" Mr. Granger exclaimed as he hurried into the kitchen.

"Perfect. I'm starving. Hermione, set the table please?"

"Sure, mum. Harry can help," Hermione replied, giving Harry a smile and a reason for the awkwardness to fade.

The topic over supper was polite conversation; Harry inquired about Mr. and Mrs. Granger's dental practice, while internally begging Merlin that they were able to easily put it back together after returning from Australia. They had. Mr. and Mrs. Granger asked Harry all about Teddy, a topic which Harry was very glad to talk about.

 _As long as they aren't asking about me or the War_ , Harry thought.

Harry noted that Hermione was quieter than usual, but guessed that her behavior was intentional; He knew that she'd arranged this meeting mostly for him and her parents to get to know each other.

After a number had been done on the roast and potatoes, Harry and Hermione were charged with the task of loading up the dishwasher. Harry's experiences growing up in a Muggle home had been nothing short of unpleasant, but he found himself enjoying the simplicity and predictability of dinner at the Grangers. It made him feel at home.

"You're going to stay for a game, right?" Hermione entreated kindly, handing Harry a plate she had just rinsed in the sink.

"Um-" Harry started, not knowing much about Muggle games, as he hadn't been granted access to many during his childhood.

"It's Sunday night tradition," Mr. Granger chimed in hopefully, his head in the fridge as he put away leftovers.

"Since before Hermione even knew how to read," Mrs. Granger explained, pouring everyone a glass of red wine at the now cleared dining table.

"There was such a time?" Harry joked.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger laughed, and Hermione smacked Harry over the shoulder with a dish towel.

"Sure, I'll play" Harry agreed, not resentfully. "What game?"

"I'm sure they will want to play Scrabble. Have you heard of it?" Hermione asked, rinsing off the last of the dirty silverware.

"I think so."

"Well, it's the game we usually play… but we usually play it differently than it's supposed to be played," Mr. Granger explained, a mockingly rebellious tone in his voice. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Do you make different rules?" Harry asked, now intrigued.

"Dad just means that we use the platform of the game to turn it into something more well-suited for us."

"Cleared that right up," Harry said sarcastically. He heard Mr. and Mrs. Granger chuckle.

Hermione rolled her eyes again.

"Mum, do we have to play that game, though? Don't you remember…"

Harry was lost now.

Mrs. Granger saw Harry's confusion. "What Hermione and Alan mean is that we have always played Scrabble in this family, but when Hermione started going to Hogwarts we changed the rules in the game to use it as a way for us, Alan and I, I mean, to learn about the magical world."

"Oh." Harry said, still unsure, and now confused as to why Mrs. Granger ignored Hermione's comment.

"Once we start playing, you'll see," Mr. Granger assured, as he set the game up at the table.

"Do you like wine?" Hermione asked, taking a sip of a dark red substance from her glass.

"I don't know… I've never had it," Harry said, thinking of the mulled wine at Hogwarts during the holidays, and how he'd been more in favor of pumpkin juice. "I didn't know you liked it."

"I like Butterbeer better," Hermione smiled, "but wine is okay too. I'm not sure if you'll like it-"

"It can be an acquired taste," Mrs. Granger interjected.

"That Butterbeer is too sweet for me," Mr. Granger said, opening the game board.

"Cavities?" Harry joked, now feeling much more comfortable.

"We fit the stereotype, don't we?" Mrs. Granger smiled.

Mr. Granger laughed, "Hermione, I thought Ron was the funny one."

Harry gave Hermione a look that communicated he was appalled, jokingly of course.

"I told them that you have your moments, Harry. But Dad, it means he's finally done worrying that you're going to yell at him or feed him poisoned roast beef," Hermione joked knowingly, making Harry feel silly for his earlier feelings of trepidation.

"Well, there _is_ still the wine…" Mrs. Granger smirked.

Harry laughed, taking a sip as if to prove that he trusted them. Harry immediately grimaced at the taste. "So you're sure… _not_ poison?"

They all laughed then, Harry most of all, not at his silly joke, but at how ridiculous his fears of Hermione's parents had been.

After their laughter had subsided and Hermione retrieved Harry something else to drink, Mr. Granger explained how the game worked.

"So this is Scrabble. Like I said before, we play it differently… but enough about that, you'll see-"

"Dad, just get to the rules already! Harry's on board."

"Right. Each player, that's us, gets 17 letters… and you try to make words based on words that are already on the board."

Harry inspected the board and saw right away where the Grangers had glued extra pieces to the original board to make it bigger.

"All the letters have a point amount, and there are squares on the board that are worth double and triple."

"Double or triple the word or the letter," Mrs. Granger explained.

"Whoever has the most points by the time the first player runs out of letters wins," Hermione said quickly, in a clear attempt to get the game going, and perhaps over with.

Harry couldn't help but think that Hermione had continued to be a bit unlike herself throughout the evening… a bit on-edge, even with her jokes and her glass of wine.

 _She must just be nervous about me meeting her parents… or her parents meeting me. But I can't forget to talk to her before I go._

"BUT-" Alan interjected before Hermione could start picking her letters from the bag, "the words we spell must be related to something in the magical world, and then Jeanne and I have to explain the word."

"It's like a test for us," Mrs. Granger clarified again, "to see what we can remember from Hermione's stories and letters."

 _Of course_ Hermione's _parents would modify a_ game _to turn it into a_ test _for themselves._

"That part will probably be boring for you, Harry," Hermione said, looking down at her lap, wringing her hands.

"No," Harry replied honestly, "it sounds interesting."

"It's really helped Alan and I feel connected to Hermione all these years, believe it or not."

Harry nodded, feeling how difficult the many levels of separation must have been over the years for Mr. and Mrs. Granger… and for Hermione, too.

"Let's start."

The game started off light, (for Harry's own sake, Harry assumed) with words like 'wand,' 'witch,''sprout,' (the namesake of one Herbology professor) and diagon (for the Alley of course).

As time went on, however, whether by design, the effect of the wine, or by accident, it all became a bit more _difficult_ with words like 'horcrux,' and 'lestrange.'

Harry could see Hermione becoming more and more uncomfortable, and Harry wished he felt comfortable enough to hold her hand with her parents so close by. He tried to give her a reassuring look, that it was okay that Hermione's parents wanted to know more about the last few years, but she was pre-occupied, shooting daggers at her parents, in a very uncharacteristic way that he _knew_ was not Hermione.

When Hermione's mother placed the word 'dobby,' Hermione spoke up.

"Mum! I asked you not to!"

"Hermione I- I don't mean anything by it. Those are the letters I had."

While the thought of Dobby elicited a sharp tightening of Harry's chest, he felt all right talking about it here. "It's okay, really."

Hermione eyed Harry to assess if he was telling the truth. Seeing that he was being honest, Hermione seemed placated for now. He could tell she was still angry with her parents though, and that she herself was not fully comfortable discussing these subjects.

Harry suddenly realized that maybe Hermione had not shared all that much with her parents about the events of the last year since their return from Australia, and this was one of their attempts, with Harry as a potentially helpful presence, to get Hermione to speak to them about it.

"Dobby," Mr. Granger began, "a house elf, mistreated by the Malfoys, saved your lives…"

"A wonderful friend," Mrs. Granger continued.

There was quiet for a moment, as if Mr. and Mrs. Granger wanted Harry and Hermione to tell them more.

"Sacrifice," Hermione whispered, tears in her eyes.

"A free elf." Harry's words resounded through the room. Hermione looked up at Harry and managed a small smile, which Harry returned by placing his hand gently on Hermione's arm.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger again shared a look. This time, Harry didn't notice.

The game continued well into the night, with moments of anger, sadness, but laughter most of all. He knew Mr. and Mrs. Granger were not trying to bring up difficult subjects for the sake of being difficult, but rather to learn more, to help their daughter any way they could. Harry was finding the game strangely therapeutic, and thought perhaps everyone else did too.

By the time nearly all the letter tiles were gone, and no one could make any more words, Mrs. Granger exclaimed, "How did it get to be one in the morning!?"

Mr. Granger stretched, yawning, "Wine will do that to you," he said humorously, as no one had consumed more than a glass.

"And Scrabble, too, I guess," Harry joked, yawning himself.

"You should stay the night, Harry," Mrs. Granger said, "I don't want you getting- um, sinched?"

Mr. Granger and Harry laughed.

"Splinched, mum."

"Need I remind you of Ron WESSley?" Mrs. Granger snapped back at her husband, not unkindly.

Mr. Granger was immediately silenced. "Ron Wessley, huh," Harry joked, "heard he's a real git."

It was Mrs. Granger's turn to laugh now.

"Well I can see the late hour is making you all delirious, goodnight!" Mr. Granger said, giving Mrs. Granger and Hermione both a kiss on the cheek.

"Mum's right, Harry, you should just stay. I can have Ron meet us in town in the morning for coffee. Besides, we have a pretty comfortable sofa."

Mrs. Granger moved from the room, presumably to set up the couch for Harry.

"But I have to get back for Teddy."

"When I spoke to 'Dromeda last week, I mentioned you may spend the night."

"But how did you-"

"This isn't my first late-night Scrabble game, Harry."

"Well…" Harry yawned hugely, "all right then."

As Hermione put the game away, Harry ventured into the living room to find Mrs. Granger setting up pillows, sheets, and blankets on the couch for Harry's makeshift bed.

"Thank you, Mrs. Granger."

"You're welcome…" Mrs. Granger said while looking nervously toward the dining room, where Hermione was cleaning up.

"Is everything all right?" Harry inquired curiously.

"Harry…" Mrs. Granger started, whispering, unsure, "I'm worried about Hermione. This is the most she's talked to us about _anything_ since we got home, anything more than the basics. She- she hasn't been herself lately. I don't think it's just that we haven't been with her for so long… it feels like something else."

Harry felt both a sense of relief that he wasn't imagining that Hermione seemed _off_ lately, and a sense of increased concern that Hermione's mother also realized something may be wrong.

Hearing Hermione walk into the living room to join them, all Harry could do was nod, and give Mrs. Granger a look that he hoped said, 'I'll do my best to find out what's going on.'

With Harry's confirmation of her concern, Mrs. Granger looked to him, with even more worry than before.

"Goodnight, mum," Hermione called, as Mrs. Granger walked upstairs.

Harry was suddenly alone with Hermione, and he wondered if now would be a good time to talk to her.

 _But where do I start?_

"Goodnight, Harry. Like I mentioned, you should stay for breakfast in the morning," Hermione offered after her mother had left.

Harry nodded, thinking that sounded nice. He wanted so badly to ask Hermione how she was feeling- to tell her that he noticed she'd been acting differently, but she looked _exhausted_ , and she was already making her way upstairs. Harry couldn't help thinking that maybe she was avoiding him, as if she knew that he was concerned and about to say something. Looking back at the evening, he realized that she hadn't actually said very much all night.

He thought about the evening's laughter, and recognized much of it had been absent form her lips.

He didn't want to keep her awake any longer, but he couldn't stop himself from mentioning, "Hermione," he saw her stop mid-step, "don't be mad at your parents, it's okay they want to know about- things." It was his meek attempt to get her to open up.

Hermione walked back down a few steps, to see Harry better in the darkened room.

She sighed, and whispered, "I'm not angry with them. I just… I asked them to be careful, that you'll talk about- _things_ \- when you're ready. That I _'_ ll let them know when I'm ready too."

He took that as a sign he should wait.

Harry nodded, and Hermione began up the steps.

"Oh, and Hermione-" Again he saw her stop mid-step and look over.

"Thank you."

Harry couldn't see her face in the dark, but if he had, he would have seen her cheeks streaked with tears.

/

/

He knew he was in King's Cross, or some place like King's Cross, that was for certain. What he didn't understand was _why_.

Was he about to leave for Hogwarts?

No. The station was empty. Empty, dark, and silent.

He found his way toward platform 9 3/4 only by the chance of some sickly yellow-green light emanating from the space above the track.

Suddenly, the sound of quick and ominous footsteps moved toward him. He could hear a long cloak whisper against the floor.

He knew those steps. Harry felt his presence.

"Mr. Potter." Harry had heard the voice countless times before, saying his name with disdain, suspicion, anger, but never with the sense of calm and acceptance he perceived now.

"Prof- Professor?"

Out of the dim light that was suited more for a potions lab than a train station, walked- no, glided- Severus Snape. He was pale, wearing long black robes, carrying nothing.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked.

"I might ask you the same question."

He came to stand next to Harry, fingers locked behind his back, and turned his attention toward the noiseless, empty track.

"Are you going somewhere?"

"That is usually the reason one finds themselves at a train station," Snape said dryly, the shadow of a smirk inching up the left corner of his mouth.

"You could say I've been waiting for this particular train for quite some time."

Harry looked up at the man whom he'd judged more often than any other person he'd known, whom he'd despised, the man who had made his life living torture at times… the man who showed him he was wrong, the man who fought for what was right out of love… the man who died alone and misunderstood. Harry didn't know what to feel- how to feel.

"I know." Snape said, his voice echoing through the platform, his gaze unwavering from the metal tracks.

Harry was taken aback.

"You forget I am a skilled Legilimens."

"Let me make something clear for you, Mr. Potter. You were a child, an adolescent, and I- a man supposedly grown- wrongfully treated you with contempt, mistrust, disdain… because of an old boyhood rivalry. A series of events which you had no part of, and no control over."

Snape turned his head then, his piercing gaze meeting Harry's perplexed one, as if looking for the courage in his eyes, in Lily's eyes, to say what he was about to say.

"That was wrong. I was wrong."

"You had- have- every reason to despise me. To work against me. But I hope-" Snape swallowed, and looked away, "I hope that in my memories you were able to find some _redeeming_ part of my character."

"I-" Harry began, but no words came out.

"Before I go, Mr. Potter, I hope you will allow me to impart one piece of wisdom."

Through the bottoms of his feet, Harry suddenly felt what Snape must also surely sense, through the concrete floor, the steady rhythm of a train pulling into the station.

"If you can not find a redeeming part of my character, at least learn from my mistakes. Some time ago, I took something- someone- for granted. You don't need to know Legilimency to know to whom I'm referring."

Harry could hear the call of a whistle, growing closer.

"It was the biggest mistake of my life."

The screeching of brakes, growing louder. The ground shaking with force.

"Don't make the same mistake, Harry."

The screeching was louder now- piercing.

"Harry! Harry! HARRY!"

He awoke in a cold sweat, Mrs. Granger shaking his shoulders so forcefully that she knocked out of him. He couldn't speak.

Harry suddenly realized that he was not in King's Cross. There was no train. And the imagined sound of screeching brakes transformed into the very real sound of Hermione's screams echoing from upstairs.


	6. Chapter 6 - Withdrawal

A/N: Thanks for reading! This is where the story really picks up. I hope you enjoy!

/

Harry vaulted from the couch, nearly knocking Mrs. Granger to the floor, and darted upstairs, feeling like he was skipping ten steps at a time.

Hermione was still screaming.

He found Mr. Granger battered and covered in sweat, repeatedly running his whole body into what Harry assumed was Hermione's bedroom door.

"Locked! She must have some kind of-" Mr. Granger yelled, but Harry interrupted, wasting no time.

"Is she close to the door!?"

"No, she's-"

"Back away!"

Mr. and Mrs. Granger ran down the hall, keeping plenty of distance. It was not their first time in the presence of strong magic. Somehow, they could sense it radiating from Harry.

Again, Harry wasted no time. He knew Hermione would use advanced protective spells to guard her door, spells to that would require more than just 'Alohamora' to break.

Harry pointed his wand. "CONFRINGO!"

Harry knew he was probably bloody and battered from the sudden explosive splintering of the door and much of the wall, but he didn't care, he didn't think.

He blindingly ran past toppled stacks of of books, empty and half-full vials of various colors and sizes, papers scattering and falling every which way like the Hogwarts' admissions letters flooding the Dursley's home so many years ago, moving toward his best friend.

She was in her bed, eyes closed tightly, screaming, thrashing about her covers. Her left arm, where 'Mudblood' was carved, was newly bloody and swollen. The fingernails on her right hand were covered in blood too, from unknowingly tearing at her own scar.

"Hermione!" Harry was the one screaming now, shaking her shoulders furiously. He was shaking, himself, from the inside out. "Wake up!"

"She's not waking up!" Mrs. Granger shouted frantically, coughing through the dust from the blast. Harry didn't notice Mr. and Mrs. Granger beside him.

"FINITE INCANTATEM!"

No change.

"Finite incantatem! Reparifors! Tergeo!" He threw every spell he could think of that might help.

The only change was the partial removal of some dried blood from Hermione's arm, which was quickly replaced with the bright red variety, still flowing from the open wound.

"What do we do!? She's not waking up!" Mr. Granger shouted over Hermione's echoing screams, fear in his eyes.

Mrs. Granger was hurriedly moving about Hermione, trying to restrain her body, to keep her from inuring herself any further.

Harry thought for a moment, now acutely aware of how heavily he was breathing, and of the fresh cuts and scratches all over his arms and, judging by the burning, his face.

 _What do I do?_

"Andromeda! I need to take the portkey and get her- she'll know what to do. Just try to keep Hermione safe here. I'll be back as soon as I can!"

Harry moved with more speed than he knew he was capable of, bounding carelessly down the stairs toward the small book Hermione had enchanted for travel back to Andromeda's.

He would have apparated, but he couldn't concentrate. All he could see in his mind was Hermione thrashing, and all he could hear were her screams.

Harry hoped the portkey was enchanted for travel for more than just one designated time. It was.

Harry's landing was smoother than any other he'd ever managed with a portkey before, but he took no time to appreciate it, darting into the house and running to wake Andromeda.

To say he startled her from sleep was an understatement, as she punched him between his eyes in mistaken defense, shattering his glasses.

"Harry! I'm sorry, but- What in Merlin-"

"It's Hermione! You have to come NOW."

It took only a moment for Andromeda to jump into action, her skills as a medical professional bursting to life. Harry was immediately reminded of Tonks' determination, the night The Order had retrieved him from the Dursley's.

"What's wrong with her?" Andromeda implored, hastily pulling on a jacket.

"I don't know! She- she wont wake up and-" Harry was still gasping for breath.

Andromeda nodded, as if she already knew what was wrong with Hermione. "Right. Harry. Go to the Burrow. Ask one of the Weasleys to get here as quickly as possible to keep an eye on Teddy. I need to gather a few supplies."

Harry gave his glasses a quick 'Reparo' before disapparating. _Never as good as Hermione's_ , he observed, placing the now-foggy frames back over his eyes.

Andromeda's home and the Burrow were protected by plenty of wards, but, as wards could be, they were adjusted to let only designated friends and family through. So, when he arrived at the Weasleys', Harry unceremoniously landed directly in the middle of the kitchen, where he found he had startled Mr. Weasley promptly to the floor. Based on the condition of the kitchen table, it appeared he'd been tinkering with one of his toaster clocks.

"Harry!"

Harry didn't give Mr. Weasley time to ask.

"Mr. Weasley, I need you to come with me, now!" Without question, Arthur scribbled a quick note, and ran to Harry, who, without hesitation, disapparated them both back to Andromeda's.

It was only after they'd left Mr. Weasley with Teddy, when Harry and Andromeda landed outside of Hermione's house, that he realized he probably should have woken Ron at the Burrow.

 _There was no time_ , he told himself.

Upon returning to the Grangers,' Harry couldn't believe the state his blasting spell had left the their second floor. There was debris everywhere, and dust was still wafting, like clouds of smoke. He'd apparently managed to give the Grangers a new, and quite spacious, skylight.

Harry and Andromeda rushed into the house, and Harry led them both upstairs. To Harry's absolute horror, Hermione was still screaming.

As Andromeda again sprang into action, with Harry by her side, the Grangers stepped back to give her space.

Andromeda was a skilled witch, especially adept with healing. Harry watched in awe as she scanned her wand over various parts of Hermione's body, casting spells in a low, but firm, voice, so rapidly that Harry could not discern one spell from the next.

The light casted by Anromeda's healing charms were not bright, sudden, or sharp, as Harry's blasting spell had been, but rather seemed to glow diffusely, steady and slow and pulsating, enfolding Hermione's unconscious form in an ethereal luminosity.

Harry felt his breath catch in his throat.

"There are vials, and cauldrons, and books everywhere," Mr. Granger said, his eyes wide and his voice low, as he surveyed the room for the first time.

Mrs. Granger looked to Harry imploringly, "She hasn't let me in here in weeks… I've been so worried… but I wanted to give her space. I knew something was wrong." Tears made tracks through the dust on her face.

Mr. Granger gently placed his hand on the small of his wife's back.

Harry wished he could offer her some comfort too, and to reassure Mr. Granger that everything would be okay, admittedly, as much for himself as for them.

"Harry." Andromeda beckoned calmly, for him to come closer. Harry stepped forward, and was grateful to realize that Hermione had stopped shouting. He breathed a sigh of relief, expecting with tentative hope Hermione was awake.

But as he drew closer, he saw that her chest was rising and falling at an abnormally rapid pace, and her eyes were still closed, however. She looked as if she were sleeping fitfully, perhaps having a nightmare.

Harry distantly mused that was probably how he looked on many nights since the end of the War, his own nightmares never far from his waking, and sleeping, mind.

Andromeda rummaged through her kit, which Harry saw was full of potions and other materials he could not identify.

Andromeda began to explain, "I cleaned her fresh wounds. Now, I'm giving her a series of calming and detoxifying potions. The scar on her arm… That-that will never be removed…"

As collected and calm as Andromeda had been up to now, tending to Hermione's scar created a struggle to hide the bile rising in her throat, to hold back her sobs.

She'd seen many things throughout her years at St. Mungo's, gruesome, horrific injuries, sometimes physical and sometimes psychological, the wounds of unthinkable acts, and loss, so much loss… and although she did not know the details of how Hermione had gotten her dark scar, but she wasn't sure she could recall a time she'd ever witnessed something so inhumane, so fundamentally abhorrent.

 _Why was it always the young, the innocent, who suffer most in war?_ She asked herself, as she'd asked herself countless times before, holding her orphaned grandson in her arms.

Noticing Andromeda had gone silent and still, Harry followed her gaze to the scar on Hermione's arm. It was finally clear of blood, but faintly glowing red, as if from the inside.

'Mudblood' it read. Seeing it made the scar on the the back of Harry's hand ache. Remembering how she'd gotten it made him wonder how he could still stand.

Sensing the implications of Hermione's scar were sinking in, and mimicking Mr. Granger, Harry tried to console Andromeda by placing a hand on her shoulder.

She managed to give him a small smile of thanks.

"We didn't know…." Mr. Granger started, referring to the fact that he and his wife had no idea, until now, Hermione even had the scar.

"How- how did she get that, that scar, Harry?" Mr. Granger implored.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger and Andromeda looked to Harry empathetically. Harry dropped his had from Andromeda's shoulder.

It was a struggle to find the words, and even more painful to say them aloud, as if doing so somehow further solidified Hermione's past torture.

"Bellatrix Lestrange… an evil wom- monster," Harry choked out.

Andromeda shook her head, but put herself back to work.

"Can't you… when will she wake up?" Mrs. Granger urged, now back at her daughter's side, stroking her hair.

"I tried everything I could…" Andromeda started.

The room filled with uncertain silence.

Harry felt panicked.

"Let's get her a bit more comfortable, and this place cleaned up. I'll also need to alert the Ministry, in case any of your neighbors noticed the blast from Harry's spell. Then I will explain."

"Harry, be sure only to fix the structural damage. I know it's a mess, but try to leave all of Hermione's things mostly untouched by hand or magic," Andromeda spoke, very seriously, and Harry wondered why. He knew that now was not the time to ask, however.

While Andromeda alerted the Ministry with a spell Harry didn't recognize, Harry cleared some of the mess his spell had made. Mr. and Mrs. Granger helped to make Hermione more comfortable. Andromeda also took time to heal Harry's cuts and bruises as well as the physical damage Mr. Granger had incurred when attempting to get into Hermione's room.

It seemed unfair to Harry that he could be healed with such ease, while Hermione had suffered helplessly, and still seemed to be in some sort of danger.

With their assignments complete, they waited by the side of Hermione's bed, for Andromeda to begin her explanation.

Harry noticed with surprise that the lion-like visage of Crookshanks had somehow appeared in Mrs. Granger's lap. Harry hadn't noticed the cat all evening.

In truth, Harry had completely forgotten about Crookshanks until Hermione had, in one of her letters from Australia, mentioned to keep him away form the gnomes in the garden at the Burrow.

It seems he had forgotten about the creature yet again, a fact that, at this time, didn't surprise him much, thinking how he'd neglected the well-being of his own best friend, let alone her cat.

Harry vowed to become re-acquainted with the kneazel, remembering how Crookshanks used to crawl in his lap in the Gryffindor common room while they waited for Sirius' floo messages, and how fond Sirius had been of the furry thing.

Seeing Crookshanks regard him disdainfully, Harry wasn't sure the feline agreed with his "re-acquainting" plan.

 _If_ he _won't forgive me, how is Hermione ever going to forgive me for not helping her sooner?_

Andromeda took a deep breath before explaining, "Unfortunately, this scenario has become increasingly common. We've seen it nearly every week at St. Mungo's since the end of the War… Hermione is going through Sleeping Draught Withdrawal."

Everyone looked at Andromeda worriedly, waiting for her to continue.

"Now, if you've been using Sleeping Draught or the Potion for Dreamless Sleep consistently, potions to help with sleep, for longer than a few months or so, you become not only physically and mentally dependent on the potion for restful sleep- but you also become magically dependent. If you then miss a night or two in a row without taking either of the potions, or if you don't wean yourself slowly and carefully, your body can enter Draught Withdrawal."

"So, when will she wake up?" Harry asked. That was the important part.

Andromeda exhaled, she'd been holding her breath. "It's… different for everyone. Sometimes people wake up after a day or a week… sometimes a month, or more-"

"More?" Mrs. Granger whispered.

"Yes, but it depends. Does anyone know how long she's been taking any of the potions?"

Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked to Harry. Harry shook his head no.

"I've- I've noticed how tired she always looks… and thin… but the three of us, Ron, Hermione and I- I think we've probably all looked like that for a while now," Harry said quietly, a shiver running through him at his recollection of the uncertain and sleepless nights in the tent.

He noted that both he and Ron seemed to be looking a bit more like their old selves these days, at least physically- their eyes not quite so hollow, Ron filling out his clothes a bit more- and realizing that the same was not true for Hermione, his anger at himself grew.

 _Why didn't I talk to her sooner?_

"Will Ron know?" Mr. Granger asked.

"I'm not sure," Harry replied, again feeling guilty he hadn't woken Ron when he'd retrieved Mr. Weasley.

"It's difficult to say, then. Hermione certainly seems to have some kind of setup here…" Andromeda gestured to the vials, ingredients, and books still scattered about the room, "suggesting it's possible she's been doing this for quite some time. But maybe not."

Mrs. Granger spoke up, determinedly, "What can we do to help her?"

Crookshanks meowed, as if repeating the sentiment himself.

Harry was amazed at Mr. and Mrs. Granger's strength.

 _They are_ Hermione's _parents_ , Harry internally smacked himself in the face, recognizing Hermione's determination and resilience were some of the characteristics of his best friend he admired most.

"Hermione will likely experience periods of restful sleep, and periods of sleep with… dreams," Andromeda ventured carefully.

With dread, Harry sensed 'nightmares' was probably the more accurate word.

"I will leave plenty of potions to help her mind and body remain calm. To prevent her from attempting somnum, or sleep, magic."

"Sleep magic?" Harry asked.

"Yes, it is typically rare, but can be very common during draught withdrawal, especially with witches and wizards of strong will. The best anyone can do for Hermione is make sure she takes these potions, and talk to her… have conversations, even though she won't say anything back."

As Andromeda took time to show Mr. and Mrs. Granger how to store and administer the potions, and made plans for check-ins over the upcoming week, Harry sat in stunned silence, saddened that his best friend may not wake up for _months_ , or more- still angry that he hadn't done anything to prevent it.

Andromeda looked to Harry when she was ready to leave.

"I'm not leaving," Harry said firmly, sitting in a chair by Hermione's bedside.

Andromeda and Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked at each other worriedly.

"Harry, it's all right. We will stay with Hermione. We need you to go home and get some rest first," Mr. Granger said.

"Plus," Andromeda continued, "You will need to tell Ron."

 _Right, Ron._ Harry felt sick.

Before leaving the Grangers', Mrs. Granger took Harry's hands in her own and thanked him.

Mr. Granger pat him on the back. "Don't worry, we'll take good care of her. Come back after you've rested."

Harry was speechless and disgusted with himself- how could they thank him? He'd been an awful friend, not just recently, but since he'd _met_ Hermione. He'd put her in danger's way countless times, and now was no different. He'd ignored all the signs that something wasn't right, and taken his friend for granted.

For the first time, he recalled the dream from earlier that night, when he'd been asleep on the Grangers' sofa, and the knowledge that the Snape in his dream had imparted.

 _Never again_ , he promised himself.

As he stood on the front steps with Andromeda and Hermione's parents, the bitter morning air numbing his fingertips, he heard the coo of a morning dove, and saw the sun was starting to rise, golden and clear, as if fueling his resolve.

He looked to Mr. and Mrs. Granger unabashedly, "She is going to wake up. I'm going to wake her up," Harry told them, with more commitment than he may have ever spoken anything before.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger shared a look, one of certainty, and said, together, "We know, Harry."

/

/

Harry disapparated to the Burrow to alert Ron, while Andromeda used the portkey to get back home.

When he arrived, apart from the distant echo of Ron's snores, the Burrow was silent. Apparently the messy and startling apparation he'd managed earlier hadn't woken anyone.

Harry wished he didn't have to be the one to wake his best friend and tell him his girlfriend was in some kind of magical withdrawal state.

Harry contemplated what he might say.

 _Ron, Hermione hasn't been able to sleep, so she's been messing around with sleeping potions… and I guess she forgot to take one of her potions or something, and now she's in withdrawal. Oh, and no one knows when she might wake up._

Harry sighed, and shook Ron awake, which, as usual, took some time.

"What the bloody- Harry?! What is it?" From Harry's haggard expression, Ron immediately knew something wasn't right.

"It's Hermione-"

Ron hurtled from his bed, with perhaps more agility than Harry had ever seen Ron manage.

"Where- where is she?" Ron interrupted, hastily dressing himself.

"She's at home-"

And before Harry could say another word, Ron disappeared, able to disapparate easily, as he'd been to the Grangers' home before.

Harry sighed again, slightly relieved he didn't have to discuss the particulars with Ron, but he also realized this may be even more difficult for Ron than for himself.

 _Although,_ Harry considered, the constriction around his heart still unabated, _I'm not sure how that's possible._

Unseeingly, Harry stared through the window of Ron's now-empty room for a moment, and disapparated back to Andromeda's.

When he arrived, he could hear Andromeda and Mr. Weasley talking in hushed tones downstairs. He moved to join them in the living room, but stopped at the top of the stairs when he heard what was being said.

"-vials and cauldrons all over the place. I've seen it before, when the draught isn't enough anymore, they start experimenting," Andromeda said. Harry could hear the exhaustion in her voice.

"And Hermione's very skilled. It wouldn't surprise me if she was able to accomplish something- stronger."

"Was I wrong not to share my suspicions with Harry? Arthur- if you could have seen his face…"

Based on the changes in her voice, it seemed as though Andromeda was trying to hold back tears.

Harry suddenly felt very empty. He was reminded of conversations he'd overheard at Grimmauld Place, when he was fifteen, when the Order held back information in an attempt to keep him safe, away from pain- to save whatever was left of his childhood. And now, to learn that Hermione was mixing potions of her own, just so she could _sleep_ …

There was no doubt that Hermione was smart, brilliant even, and with that intelligence she steadfastly managed an unfaltering responsibility for how she used that knowledge, magic, and power. Always the voice of reason and reasonableness.

Harry knew these things well about his best friend, and sickeningly recognized just how desperate she must have been, to experiment like that.

He'd been desperate like that before, and Hermione had usually been the one to prevent him from doing anything too drastic, or, when he had convinced her and his other friends to do something drastic with him, she was often the one to find a way out of the chaos that often ensured.

 _How could I have done nothing to help her, before it got to this point?_

Harry slumped tiredly against the wall, wishing it would just engulf him whole, to escape from the pain and guilt.

"When will they get a break?" Harry heard Andromeda continue downstairs, sniffling.

"I don't blame you, Andromeda. We've done the same in the past, and what I've learned is that Harry will stop at nothing to help his friends, even if it means digging for the truth. Keeping things from him tends to end up doing more harm than good."

Harry took a deep breath, and walked slowly down the stairs.

"It's all right, Andromeda," Harry said collectedly, startling Andromeda and Arthur both.

"Harry, I-"

"Really, it's all right. Thank you for trying to protect me," Harry managed a smile in earnest gratitude, "but the more I know- the more Ron and I know- the more we can help."

"Andromeda was saying that there is no cure for sleeping draught withdrawal- we have to let it run its course, but if Hermione has been experimenting- there may be some antidote that could speed the process along," Arthur said.

"But how would we know what she was working with?" Harry asked seriously. "I've made it even more difficult by practically demolishing her entire room."

"There are ways… spells, to try to retrace her steps, enchantments to examine ingredients and combinations. Plus, there tends to be trends with sleeping potion experimentation. I asked Hermione's parents to avoid moving any of Hermione's things too much, and to be sure not to throw anything away."

"So we can start retracing her steps?" Harry asked hopefully.

"No," Andromeda sighed, downcast, "it would take a team of highly skilled wizards and witches…"

"So let's find them! I'm sure there must be a team at the Ministry?"

Mr. Weasley spoke then, "Harry, this is happening to people all over the UK. It happened last time too. People become desperate just to do the normal things that were once simple… like sleep. The Ministry, and St. Mungo's, are overwhelmed."

"So you're saying there's nothing we can do?" Harry's heart was being pulled and pushed and prodded.

"I've put Hermione's name in with the Ministry, and St. Mungo's… we just have no idea how long it will take," Andromeda said quietly.

"It could be months…" Mr. Weasley informed, wanting to be completely honest with Harry.

"There's something else, as well," Andromeda offered cautiously, nearly in a whisper.

"Hermione's scar…"

At the mention of Hermione's scar, Harry suddenly felt anger begin to overtake his exhaustion and guilt.

Arthur furrowed his brow in confusion, not understanding why Andromeda was suddenly inquiring about scars.

"I'll need to get another opinion, but… her scar bears many signs of a curse, perhaps a curse laced with some sort of potion. It could be reacting with whatever Hermione may have been experimenting with, or with the potion itself."

Harry was filled with anger now.

 _She's dead, yet still finding ways to hurt people_ , Harry thought of Bellatrix Lestrange. He felt his nails dig into the palms of his hands.

"What could that mean for Hermione?" Arthur asked, rubbing his eyes wearily.

"Well, the scar could just be… a scar, and won't interfere."

"Or, it could mean any number of things… that her withdrawal will have unforeseen side-effects, or that the withdrawal could last a longer- or even shorter- amount of time. Among other things. It's difficult for me alone to say, but an expert… someone with more knowledge of curses…" Andromeda trailed off, feeling as though she couldn't do a thing to help Hermione, or Harry, only offer up bad news.

Harry stood in stunned silence, his anger abetting, now feeling completely drained. Somehow, he no longer had the emotional or mental space for anger, to feel anything but hopeless.

All that currently occupied his mind, although he hadn't visually witnessed it, as he'd been helplessly locked in a cell in Malfoy Manor, was the memory of Hermione being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange.

He remembered Ron clamoring against the metal bars, calling for her, trying to escape, the way maybe he _should_ have reacted.

But Harry had unknowingly lost all control then, of his mind, body, and soul, as if no part of him could process the very real threat that Hermione could… could die.

If Bellatrix hadn't been so torture-happy… but instead had chosen to use the killing curse…

Truly processing the event for the first time since then, and, still in Andromeda's living room, suddenly feeling as though he couldn't stand, Harry recalled the way all feeling had left him, replaced only with absolute dread, powerlessness, and a raw fear he'd never known, unable to intervene, to protect Hermione.

He remembered the way time slowed, and although his heart had been racing, it was if his body had been struck with an immobilization hex.

And now, Harry was going through it all over again.

 _Hermione could die._

If Harry was someone else, he might be consumed with feelings that it wasn't _fair_ , that they'd been through so much pain and loss, and even though the War was finally over, it hadn't disappeared. But life had never been fair for Harry, and so instead, all he could think was that there was no way in hell Hermione would die, not while he still lived and breathed.

"You should try to get some sleep," Arthur ventured kindly, knowing how ridiculous the offer sounded, in light of the circumstances, and noticing that Harry suddenly seemed unnaturally pale.

"I'm going to stay here today, Harry, to be with Teddy. Listen to Arthur, you _should_ get some rest. There's nothing we can do right now."

"No," Harry's voice resounded in the quiet room like the toll of a church bell, signaling a late hour.

Technically, the War was over, but not really. He knew he would deal with the aftermath of the War for quite some time, if not for the rest of his life, but, again, in perfect Harry fashion, he'd forgotten he was not alone in this, that the War, that threat, was still very real for the people around him… for Hermione.

Andromeda was wrong. There _was_ something he could do now. He wouldn't allow himself to be immobilized by fear. There was no option, no possibility, Harry would make sure, of a world without Hermione in it.

He hadn't been able to protect Hermione from pain then, at Malfoy Manor, hadn't been able to prevent that scar on her arm.

But he could protect her now.

"No. This happened, in some way, because of me. Because I've been a shoddy friend. I can't sleep while Hermione is stuck in some, some withdrawal… when we don't know when- _if_ \- let's be honest here- she'll wake up."

"Andromeda, I don't know when I'll be able to watch Teddy again… I'm sorry. Thank you for your help tonight."

Andromeda nodded in understanding. She wasn't going to try to stop him.

She recognized the look in his eyes; a look of boundless resolve, and love. The extent of the love, she couldn't begin to know, but Andromeda had seen the same look in her own daughter's eyes, during the War, and there had been times when she'd attempted to stop Nymphadora from careening headfirst into danger.

She knew Harry was about to leave, to begin whatever mission he'd just formulated in his mind, and she wanted to stop him, to protect him, but she knew it would be futile.

She knew it'd be better to _support_ Harry's endeavor, so he would feel open to coming to her in the future for guidance, if a time should arise.

 _Pick your battles_ , her own mother had always said.

"Mr. Weasley," Harry continued, "Ron's at the Grangers.' Thank you, too, for your help."

"Harry, it's not a good idea to go-" Arthur started, to no avail.

"Please, don't worry about me," Harry continued, addressing them both, "just do all that you can for Hermione and her parents right now. I'll be back soon."

And before Andromeda or Arthur could say another word, Harry was gone.

"I'm worried. _Should_ I be worried?" Andromeda asked Arthur, taken aback by Harry's abruptness.

"We can worry, of course, that's what parents do… but there's no one more capable, more driven, than Harry, to help the people he loves."

/

A/N: I know Hermione's scar is not book canon, but I feel like it should be! You may or may not notice that I try to stick to book canon for the most part, but if there is something from the movies I really like, I may incorporate it into my story.


	7. Chapter 7 - Hermione's Scarf

/

 _How many days has it been?_ Ron wondered, musing how quickly time overall, yet how slowly each individual day, had passed since Hermione had fallen into what Andromeda called sleeping draught withdrawal.

As Ron sat tiredly, slumped in one of the two upholstered chairs by Hermione's bedside, he wondered what it must feel like to be in a prolonged state of in-between, a state between dreams and wakefulness, as Hermione was, as Andromeda and some medics from St. Mungo's had attempted to describe it.

Ron imagined it must feel like being underwater, reaching for the surface, close enough to know that the open air was just above your fingertips, yet somehow unable to break through.

He shivered at the thought.

Andromeda and a few healers from St. Mungo's had been by to perform diagnostic assessments on Hermione. Harry, Ron, and Mr. and Mrs. Granger had wearily stood back to let them complete their work.

While Mr. and Mrs. Granger were both medical professionals themselves, though Muggle instead of magical, Ron saw how difficult it was for them to watch their daughter be poked and prodded, albeit with gentleness, as if she were some sort of test subject, and not their daughter.

They'd given her something called the Wiggenweld Potion. Andromeda explained the potion was usually used to help someone wake up from taking magically induced sleep, but in cases of suspected sleeping draught _withdrawal_ , it was used only to help confirm or deny the diagnosis.

"So will this potion wake her up?" Ron asked, not really understanding.

"If she truly _is_ withdrawing, the potion _won't_ wake her up," one of the healers explained.

"And if she _isn't_ in withdrawal?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"It _might_ wake her up."

"So.. what you're saying is… this test can't even confirm for sure if Hermione's in withdrawal?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Correct," the healer affirmed.

Ron thought it all sounded a bit pointless.

As if sensing the thoughts of everyone in the room, Andromeda explained, "At any rate, this potion should help her sleep more peacefully. It can't hurt."

But the opposite had been true, as Hermione began, nearly immediately, jerking fitfully in her sleep, as if having a nightmare.

Andromeda and the other healers had crowded around her again, casting spells that were ultimately deemed more effective at calming her, as Hermione once again stilled.

"Very atypical response," one of the healers had said disconnectedly, as if discussing a test subject, and not a living, breathing person, "indicative of experimentation for certain. Have any of you discovered what she was experimenting with yet?"

Harry had nearly lost it then, barging his way through the group of healers to stand close to Hermione, brandishing his wand, necessitating Andromeda and Mr. Granger's intervention.

Ron would pay anything to see the look on that healer's face again, having been told off by none other than Harry Potter.

Needless to say, the healers had not been back.

But the other potions and spells Andromeda administered seemed to help Hermione achieve a more restful state, at least most of the time.

Andromeda and the healers affirmed that the best thing for everyone else to do to help Hermione emerge from the in-between-ness, caused by what they could only assume at this point was sleeping draught withdrawal, was to talk to her.

Ron was beginning to think this was something they just told family members, to make them feel like they were helping, when there was actually nothing anyone could do.

Ron certainly felt uncomfortable talking to Hermione while she was in this state, in part because he was accustomed to her having so much to say, but more so, of course, because it was incredibly difficult to see Hermione bedridden and unmoving for so long.

He remembered Hermione's Basilisk paralysis, during their second year, when she laid unmoving, in much the same way as she was now. He couldn't help but think _that_ paralysis seemed so much less- _scary_ \- than this withdrawal.

Maybe because he was younger then, or maybe because his relationship with Hermione had changed, or because there was more uncertainty now… or maybe it was all of it together.

Ron wished Hermione had just _told him_ she hadn't been able to sleep, maybe he could've helped.

When Harry, Hermione's parents, Mr. Weasley, or Andromeda filled the other, currently vacant chair in the room- which happened to be nearly all the time- Ron didn't do much of the talking.

Today, however, Harry, again, was visiting McGonagall, Flitwick, and Slughorn at Hogwarts, to do more research to figure out just what Hermione had been experimenting with, and how it could be interacting with whatever curse Bellatrix had cast.

It had been like something out of a strange dream, that first day of Hermione's withdrawal, when Harry had returned from Hogwarts after imploring the help of McGonagall.

Harry had returned to the Grangers,' with Slughorn, Flitwick, and McGonagall in toe, to sip tea in the Grangers' contrastingly Muggle sitting room.

Slughorn had examined Hermione's scar, waving his wand over her unmoving body, he'd swept the floor with a brush and dustpan for fragments of ingredients ("All right there, Weasley?" He'd asked, noting he was being gaped at. Apparently Ron was finally worthy enough after the War for the professor to recall his name correctly, although Ron doubted he'd ever be worthy enough to be invited to the Slug Club).

Flitwick energetically bounded about the stacks of books in Hermione's room, looking for clues, while Crookshanks nipped playfully at the hem of his robes.

Ron had seen a lot in his short life, but that day had been unlike anything he'd ever witnessed before, and, he knew, would likely ever see again.

As admittedly unexpected as it had all been, Ron was pleased someone had thought to involve his professors (in fact he rather wished he'd thought of it himself, or Harry'd at least brought him along). Most of all, he was relieved that such a qualified team was working to help Hermione.

When he wasn't at her bedside, Harry went most of his time researching at Hogwarts.

If Ron had to admit, he knew he wouldn't be much help in the research department.

But Andromeda explained that it would help to talk to Hermione, and he knew he could do that.

"What should we talk about today, Hermione?" Ron asked aloud, uncomfortably.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger were taking care of some business at their practice, Andromeda was sleeping, prepping for a night shift at St. Mungo's, and Teddy was with Mrs. Weasley at the Burrow, where she was frantically beginning preparations for George and Angelina's wedding, which they'd unexpectedly announced two days ago… that they would be married, on Christmas Eve, and could they have the wedding at the Burrow.

Ron was thankful he hadn't been there when George and Angelina made the announcement to his parents, but from his mum's subsequent behavior, he could tell she felt a mixture of outrage at the short notice, confusion as to the rush, and pure joy at knowing that another one of her children (and George, no less, who lost his other half less than a year ago) had found a lifetime partner.

Despite the circumstances, Ron couldn't help but find some solace in needing to be somewhere besides home, remembering how his mother had acted just before Bill and Fleur's wedding.

Ron shuddered.

Of course, Ron was also happy for his brother, who was still not himself after Fred's death. Ron knew George would never be the same, none of them would, but, although he'd never say it aloud, he was glad his brother could find love and happiness, even during such a difficult time.

He was also glad that Ginny would be home from training any day now, and she would no doubt be roped into wedding preparations.

 _Poor Ginny_ , Ron thought with a smirk.

"You're the one who usually has to wake me up," Ron mused aloud to Hermione, with humor in his tone, knowing what a 'deep sleeper' he was, particularly at the most inopportune times.

"Hermione- uh, George and Angelina are getting married. They just decided, I guess. The wedding's going to be on Christmas Eve."

Ron raised his eyes up from his feet, and saw Hermione, still unmoving.

"They came by the other day, to talk to me and Harry, and to see you. They told us they would wait, until you were awake, for the wedding, but- I hope it's okay, Hermione, we told them not to wait. That you wouldn't want them to wait."

Ron watched Hermione's chest slowly rise and fall. He wished she would wake up.

"You'll be awake by then, though," he assured himself.

While Hermione continued to lay dormant, Ron perceived the sound of someone arriving, perhaps via apparation, just inside in the Grangers' back garden. Turning himself in his chair to peer around a window curtain, he saw a familiar voluminous mane of blond hair move toward the front door.

It was Luna, who had also been by once before, who Ron had forgotten said she would stop by again.

Ron clamored down the steps into the front hall to let her in. As he swung open the back door, he immediately noticed that Luna's hair was significantly more unkempt than usual, falling every which way out of a loosened plait. She had a smear of dirt across the bridge of her nose, and two matching patches of mud staining her overalls, one on each knee.

"Ron," she said airily as she gave him a hug, unknowingly depositing a combination of earthy grime and water from the bottoms of her bright yellow boots onto the Granger's wooden floor.

As she stepped back and took off her coat, Ron noticed a number of scratches and what looked like bite marks on her forearms.

Noticing his stare, Luna said, "Oh, don't worry about those, they're quite lucky actually, gernumbli bites."

"Right," Ron said, having learned it was best to just go with the flow where Luna was concerned.

"But I suppose I should clean up the mess," Luna gestured toward the floor, vanishing the miniature swamp she'd managed to create with an easy brandish of her wand. She also took a moment to carefully heal the raw scratches on her arms.

Ron noticed she purposefully left a few bite marks behind and shook his head with a chuckle.

"Should we head upstairs then?" She continued merrily.

"Upstairs? Why?"

"To see Hermione, of course," Luna said, as if she didn't notice Ron's absentmindedness.

"Hermione. Right." He felt like an idiot. He wondered why he was so distracted.

As they made their way up the stairs, Luna informed, "You know, Ron, sleep is very important."

If Ron hadn't been so tired, he would have caught - even appreciated- that Luna was making a snarky joke, trying in earnest to cheer him up, but all Ron could now think of was the sense of irony lurking somewhere in the fact that while all he _wanted_ to do at the moment was _sleep_ , all he _wished_ Hermione would do was _wake up_.

Understanding why her humor had gone unnoticed, but unable to control feeling a bit put out, Luna promptly changed the subject as they entered Hermione's bedroom, "I'm happy for George and Angelina."

"Yeah, me too." Ron agreed.

"It was quite sudden, don't you think? But that's not a bad thing."

Ron merely nodded.

"I'm going to help with the preparations."

"Thanks, Luna. That'll be great," Ron said sincerely.

"I think your mum needs it." Luna's choice of tone wasn't lost on Ron, and he laughed.

"Oh, I hope you don't mind, but I've owled Neville about Hermione. He said he'd like to come by tomorrow. I offered to help him get here, if that's all right."

Ron felt badly that he hadn't owled Neville much since the summer, he wasn't even sure what his friend had been up to, but he was lifted by the thought of seeing one of is best mates again soon.

"That's great! Harry will be pleased to see Neville, too."

"I bet Neville will be happy to help with the wedding, too, if your mum wants more help. He seems to have a way with plants," Luna offered, thinking of wedding decorations.

Ron nodded as he sat back down in the worn armchair by Hermione's side. Luna continued to stand, but moved closer to Hermione's bedside.

"So- uh, why were you all muddy?" Ron asked.

"I've been extracting saliva all day."

Seeing Ron's nauseated expression, she continued, " _Gnome_ saliva! It's perfectly safe if you know what you're doing," as if Ron had been particularly concerned about the safety of saliva extraction, rather than its inherent repulsiveness.

"It has many advantageous properties."

"I know it's a bit distasteful of me to collect their saliva without _explicit_ permission…"

Ron watched as Luna pulled a small, clear glass vial out from a pouch fastened to a ribbon around her neck. It was filled with a translucent green liquid.

"… but it's for a good cause,' Luna said, looking down at Hermione, who slumbered peacefully now.

"You're planning to-"

"Spritz this over Hermione, of course. To help her withdraw from her withdrawal."

Ron felt like arguing and halting Luna's plan, feeling it was ridiculous, and having an inkling that Hermione wouldn't want to be spritzed with _any_ form of saliva, gnome or otherwise; however, he remembered that Luna had proven him wrong so many times in the past, in the most natural, yet surprising, and above all, selfless ways.

Ultimately, Ron recognized that she'd obviously worked all morning, and perhaps the night before in the garden, to do what she could for her friend in a way she believed may help.

"So, you think this will wake her up?"

"No, no… but it may help her along. At the very least, it should help her sleep more peacefully. I noticed she seemed to be having nightmares last time."

Ron ran his fingers through his hair and sighed, "Spritz away. Saliva spritz… saliva spits- spritz… there's a joke there somewhere."

Luna laughed, and he did too.

 _Is Luna's humor rubbing off on me?_ Ron allowed himself to wonder, watching his friend methodically mist saliva over Hermione's extremities.

 _Nope. Definitely just tired._

"I know this isn't necessarily something the medics would do at St. Mungo's… or the infirmary at Hogwarts… or any other medical place of official repute, actually, but my Dad's done extensive research on the Gernumbli. You can ask Harry, we talked about it once."

Ron scoffed at the picture of Harry attempting in earnest to listen to Luna and Xenophilius Lovegood discuss the fantastic properties of gnome spit.

But the knowledge of all the trouble, and pain, Luna had gone through with the gnomes to do whatever she could to help a friend endeared Ron, and even more, made him appreciate Luna for her ability to believe in good, in possibility, especially in the unlikely, even when things seemed so uncertain.

Maybe, he reasoned, if he had been a bit more like Luna, Hermione wouldn't be in trouble.

"You may want to avoid the garden at the Burrow for a while. Let them… calm down," Luna informed smoothly.

"I don't know… the garden might need one last pruning before the wedding. I'm sure Neville and Harry'd be glad to help. Or Ginny. She'll be home for her break soon," Ron grinned diabolically.

"George will be home, too," Luna noted.

"Even better."

Ron and Luna laughed aloud again, together, and if either of them had been looking, they would have seen Hermione smile.

/

/

 _To siphon an experimental potion, one must first be in full awareness and understanding of both the dormant and active effects of each applicable ingredient, and the knowledge of how the individual effect of the particular…_

Harry felt like he was going cross-eyed.

 _The blurry glasses don't help_ , he thought dryly, having been unable to magic them completely back to normal.

 _I should have Flitwick take a look at them, I guess._

He started the sentence again, perhaps for the fifth time.

 _To siphon an experimental potion, one must first be in full awareness and understanding of…_

Harry looked up from the heavy tome, _Modern Minglings: A Text on the Contemporary Relationships of Potions and Charms,_ and sighed at the stacks of similarly-sized books piled about him, in McGonagall's empty Transfiguration classroom.

McGonagall originally offered Harry her headmistress office, generally unoccupied as of late, as she continued to prefer the cozy quarters near the Gryffindor common room she'd occupied for years as a professor.

Harry was acutely aware that said office had not so long ago been Dumbledore's- and Snape's- so he'd politely declined, and asked for another location to begin his work. He knew the familiar room would be more of a hinderance than a help, particularly to his mental state.

As much as Harry avoided that room, and even under the circumstances, he was glad to be back at Hogwarts. He didn't realize just how much he missed the school until he stepped foot in the Great Hall a few days ago.

This time of year, the hall was decorated with Christmas trees of unfathomable height (thanks to Hagrid, and his lumbering in the Forbidden Forest), adorned with glowing ornaments right out of a storybook (thanks to Flitwick and McGonagall's handiwork).

The floating candles only served to create a visage of additional merriment and warmth. The sight made Harry wonder if Hogwarts was the only true home he'd ever know.

 _It's not really home though_ , Harry conceded, _not without Hermione and Ron._

But now, his feelings of personal incompetence drove those observations far from his mind.

 _At least Slughorn, Flitwick, and McGonagall've managed more luck_ , Harry thought, in a feeble attempt at optimism.

Based on the professors' assessment of the recently used books in Hermione's room, the ones not neatly put away on her bookshelf, they had confirmed that yes, Andromeda's suspicions were likely true, that Hermione had been experimenting with sleeping potions.

This had not dampened the mood though, as they also agreed, after closely analyzing Hermione's scar, it was _unlikely_ that said scar was cursed.

"On the surface, yes, the scar might appear to be cursed, but that is the thing with scars… they can be quite deceiving, especially one as… as cruel, as Hermione's. We can't be _entirely_ certain, Mr. Potter, not while Hermione still sleeps, but it does _not_ appear as if her scar is truly a sign of a curse," Flitwick had explained.

That had given them all some relief, albeit small. Harry'd had enough of cursed scars, that was for sure.

Again fueling Harry's optimism, Slughorn and Flitwick had some luck with their excavation of Hermione's room, having collected odd bits and particles from Hermione's floor and desk. Harry recalled Slughorn's dustpan, Flitwick's excited exclamations as he used tweezers to transfer specimens into jars, and Slughorn's affirmations of, "Right, right, then. Perhaps…"

It was progress, Harry knew, but no one still seemed to understand just _why_ Hermione appeared to be going through sleeping draught withdrawal.

"We can hope," Andromeda had explained to Harry, Ron, and Hermione's parents, "that she was trying to _stop_ taking the potion, and she just…. didn't wean herself off correctly. Usually when that's the case, and a person hasn't been consistently taking sleeping draught too long, the withdrawal lasts only a few days or weeks to a few months, at most, and she will likely wake up on her own in time."

Somehow, Harry didn't think the brightest witch of their age would be so careless with sleeping draught, but he allowed himself to hope that he was wrong.

His mind returning to his own work, which Harry ascertained had been much less successful, he could feel anger begin to grow inside of him.

He realized how helpful Hermione's direct guidance would be right now, and feeling that it was, at least in part, his fault she _couldn't_ be there, his fault that she was in a withdrawal to begin with.

Again, he tried.

 _To siphon an experimental potion, one must first-_

A sharp pain pulsated through his skull. He couldn't remember when he'd last slept more than the ten minutes he'd unwillingly spent yesterday, when he'd fallen asleep headfirst in a book. Again, Harry's anger rose, sickened with himself, not just for _this_ time, but for all the other times he hadn't helped his best friend.

 _To siphon an experimental-_

He was getting nowhere.

Harry slammed his fists down on the surface of the old wooden desk, his chair skidding backwards behind him as he stood up in frustration.

A burst of unchecked magic recklessly and uncontrollably emanated from him, as if he were ten years old again, sending books and papers violently streaming through the air, to crash on the floor and empty desks, against tall window panes, and past the nose of one very astonished Minerva McGonagall, just as she walked through the doorway of the classroom.

"Mr. Potter, what is the meaning of this!?" She exclaimed.

Seeing Harry's drained expression, she immediately softened. The young man was exhausted, from lack of sleep of course, but more from guilt, which, she knew, resulted in a very specific kind of fatigue.

She recognized Harry's guilt from the moment he arrived at Hogwarts, asking, pleading, for her help, which had been unnecessary, of course, as she would, without hesitation, do anything to protect and support her students, past or present.

McGonangall also observed that Harry looked quite lost, and fearful, reminding her of when she'd watched him anxiously await his moment with the Sorting Hat.

With books strewn about the room, all Harry could do was look unseeing about him, barely registering the disruption.

With a balance of as much firmness and kindness as she could muster, she said, "Mr. Potter, I must insist that you get some rest-"

"Professor, Headmistress- I can't. There's so much to do."

"Now, I know that somewhere inside your head is some sense, and this sense understands as well as I do that you're no help to anyone like this," McGonagall gestured toward the explosion of reading material.

She idly mused how peculiar it was to speak to Harry on such a personal level. She knew she would grow accustomed to it, as she had with some former students over her many years of teaching.

Although Harry certainly looked older than his age these days, whenever she saw him, it was often difficult for her _not_ to visualize the slumbering baby she and Albus had once left on the Dursleys' doorstep.

Harry again looked, as if lost, about him, and realized that he may have taken a step backwards with his research, especially after his outburst. He realized that he hadn't really made any gains over the previous two days- but the thought of trying to sleep seemed utterly insensitive, with Hermione being as she was.

"Professor, I can't-"

"You must."

"But Hermione-"

"Ms. Granger is in good hands, the most capable hands, in truth. Professors Slughorn and Flitwick are working diligently to solve this puzzle. They've also enlisted Professor Sprout, if I'm not mistaken."

"I just- I just wish I had done something before it got to this point," Harry ran his hands through his disheveled mop.

McGonagall softened, hearing Harry's tone, seeing that he'd yet again placed the weight of the world on his own shoulders.

"Mr. Potter… I'm _not_ saying there is nothing you could have done to prevent Hermione's current state, because there is not one person on this planet who hasn't, in hindsight, seen what they may have done differently, to prevent or alter some outcome. In hindsight, we _all_ see our mistakes."

Harry didn't think any other part of his being could ache, but there it was, gnawing at his heart, from the inside out. He felt his chest constrict.

"But I will say, since there is nothing we can realistically do now to turn back time-"

Harry's eyes perked up. _The time turner_ , he thought, rather maniacally.

Seeing the idea in Harry's eyes, McGonagall continued, with increased firmness, "Since there is _nothing_ we can do now to turn back time, to alter the past in such a perfect way as to prevent Hermione's current outcome… without most assuredly disrupting something else…"

"…what you _can_ do, Mr. Po… _Harry_ , going forward, is to protect your friend in any way possible… which you've always seemed to do anyway, on that thought, but, in choosing my words more carefully… in going forward, perhaps learn from what you _haven't_ done in the past. Perhaps pay more mind to what you may have neglected."

Harry nodded, fuzzy as to how he was comprehending any of this at all, but felt that McGonagall's advice agreed with steps he was already trying to take. Her advice reminded him of the words Snape had spoken in his dream.

"You'll be better for it," finished McGonagall.

"Hermione will be better for it," Harry softly corrected.

McGonagall smiled. "I see you've already begun."

Harry nodded, and felt a surge of gratitude for his professor, someone he knew, now more than ever, he could always count on.

"And should you ever feel the weight of your thoughts is getting the better of you… I encourage you to use the Pensieve, to help you think a little more… more clearly."

Harry nodded, immediately thinking of Snape, and the photo album that remained unopened in his room at Andromeda's.

"Thank you."

McGonagall turned to leave, but paused.

"Oh, and Mr. Potter, when Ms. Granger _does_ return to us, and is feeling well again… well, let's just say I have a more long-term plan for her consideration… if she accepts of course."

Somehow, Harry's lopsided grin made the dark circles under his eyes wholly less prominent.

/

/

It was late when Harry arrived at the Grangers' home.

He knew he should have gone back to Andromeda's to try to get some rest, and to see Teddy the following morning, but he hadn't checked on Hermione since the evening before, busy with his work at Hogwarts.

Harry couldn't stop himself from feeling a bit odd entering the Grangers' alone, in the middle of the night, when he'd never even set foot in the house prior to very recently.

 _I won't be able to sleep anyway,_ Harry admitted to himself.

The house was quiet, except for the pattering of Crookshanks' paws reverberating from the floor above. Crookshanks was too large to be stealthy, but he certainly was intelligent, a trait that was to be expected in any pet of Hermione's.

As Harry draped his coat over his arm and headed upstairs, he saw two gleaming eyes stare back at him from the top step. It seemed as though Crookshanks was waiting for him, but Harry knew that he was merely performing his duty, keeping watch at one of his many posts, maintaining close tabs on anyone and everyone who dared get close to his Hermione.

In a feeble bid to win the beast's favor, Harry managed to scavenge some treats from Hagrid's hut.

As Harry leaned down to offer the fuzzball a treat, that cat's ears peaked in interest.

Harry ventured a light pat on Crookshanks' head and said, "Good cat. You've been protecting Hermione… more than I ever could."

"That's not true, Harry."

Harry nearly fell backwards down the stairs at the tired, quiet voice coming from the dimly lit hallway. It was Mr. Granger, emerging from what Harry presumed was the bedroom the man shared with his wife, feebly attempting to wipe the exhaustion from his eyes.

"Mr. Granger, I- sorry to wake you-" Harry sputtered, his heart still racing in surprise.

He noticed Crookshanks was gone, likely back to his post at Hermione's bedside.

"If I'd been asleep you might've woken me, but…"

Harry nodded in understanding, and they both quietly headed down the hall, toward Hermione's room.

"You're too hard on yourself. Hermione's well-being is not your sole responsibility. None of us knew what was going on, not even Ron."

Deep down, he knew that Mr. Granger was right, but Harry also knew now that he hadn't been the friend to Hermione he should've been, not just after the war, but for years.

Harry considered what Mr. Granger said, and began to think about Ron.

Although he couldn't place any more blame on Ron than he could on himself, Harry wondered if maybe Ron and Hermione had not become as close as he thought.

 _Shouldn't Ron have suspected something?_ Harry wondered, without blame or anger, his genuine confusion mounting. _Isn't he her- her boyfriend now?_

The word sounded so odd in Harry's mind, 'boyfriend.' It was even more odd to consider Ron and Hermione with labels like 'boyfriend' and 'girlfriend.' Those were words for regular teenagers, teens who were not busy hunting and destroying parts of an evil wizard's soul.

 _I guess that's us now though. Teenagers._

Harry was still figuring out who he was now, now that the war was over, and who he wanted to be… what he wanted to do. But he knew for sure- the label, _teenager,_ certainly did not apply to him.

Standing in the narrow strip of soft light emanating from Hermione's room, Harry saw Mr. Granger study him for a moment. Harry found himself wondering if that was how he studied people's teeth during their visits, and thought his clients might be a bit put off by it.

"You're still getting used to Hermione being with Ron."

Although he was taken aback by Mr. Granger's subject change and intuition, Harry nodded. It was something he tried not to think about, but could not deny that it was still strange to consider his best friends "together," especially in moments like this, when Harry was reminded that it seemed as if nothing had really changed between the pair.

Harry was surprised at how openly he was speaking to Mr. Granger, a man he really didn't know, about these things. Maybe it was his newfound resolve to not take the people in his life for granted, especially his best friend.

 _Or maybe I'm just so tired I don't have the energy to keep it all in,_ Harry thought dryly.

Harry also wondered if the parents of the friends of other people his age talked in such ways as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and now Mr. and Mrs. Granger, did with him.

 _Probably not,_ Harry figured, knowing that his childhood and adolescence had frequently experienced shortages of guidance, a known shortage the adults in his life often seemed to try to make up for.

Where the Grangers and the Weasleys were concerned, however, Harry didn't mind. In fact, as he grew older, he grew more appreciative of this type of guidance.

Harry knew he needed it now.

Hermione's father sighed. Harry couldn't tell if Mr. Granger approved or disapproved of Ron and Hermione's relationship, in fact, he couldn't tell _what_ the man thought of his daughter and only child dating Ron Weasley.

"It's been an adjustment for us all. Hermione never talks about it, and when we try to ask her about Ron, or the war, she becomes upset. She's never had a- a _boyfriend_ before…." Mr. Granger spoke the word just as Harry imagined it in his own mind, like the name of a food with a displeasing smell, a food he'd never seen nor heard of, but was now expected to eat, without question.

"But that's just the tip of the iceberg. _Everything's_ been an adjustment since we got our memories back."

Mr. Granger continued. "We try not to push her, and maybe that's where we failed. Maybe she needs to be pushed… I can only imagine what the three of you are going through after everything that's happened, but maybe it's better to pry so it comes out, so it doesn't fester…"

Mr. Granger continued. Harry got the feeling he had a lot to get off his chest.

"As Hermione got older, Jeanne and I felt more and more useless. Hermione told us less and less, and now she tells us nearly nothing, just enough to restore our memories to get us back here, where we left off, the basics. We didn't know what to do when we got home, and we certainly haven't a clue now."

Harry met Mr. Granger's gaze, and saw that he was desperate to help his daughter. Harry hoped that he conveyed the same feeling, that he wanted to help her, more than anything.

"I- I could tell you…" Harry started.

Mr. Granger smiles weakly, "It's not your place Harry, but thank you. I think… I think it needs to come from Hermione."

Harry nodded in understanding, and replied, "I'm going to try too, to talk to her more, about… things, when she wakes up."

Harry wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to talk to Hermione about- about _relationships_ … but he was certainly ready to talk to her to figure out how to help her, in any way he could.

Harry looked through crack created by the open door, and saw Hermione's chest slowly rising and falling, still asleep in her bed.

Mr. Granger opened his mouth as if to again reassure Harry that he had already done so much, that Harry had always been a good friend, the best of friends, to his daughter, but he knew trying in this case was pointless.

From Hermione's letters over the years, Mr. Granger knew there was no changing Harry's mind, especially where his resolve was concerned.

Silently, Mr. Granger gestured with a nod of his head for Harry to enter Hermione's room. Harry expected him to follow inside, but when he turned to say something, Mr. Granger was gone.

Harry still didn't fully understand what he'd done to earn Mr. and Mrs. Grangers' complete trust, to be alone with their daughter in her room, but he accepted it enough to appreciate it.

As Harry turned to walk toward Hermione's bed, a small lamp doing its best to illuminate the large desk on the other side of the room caught his eye.

The blast from Harry's spell, the one that had obliterated the now-mended bedroom door, had not long ago left the area in disarray, but now the desk was tidy, as Harry imagined Hermione usually kept it, after Mrs. Granger worked to achieve some sort of organization, all while cautiously avoiding disturbing any object that could potentially serve to help in the investigation of Hermione's withdrawal.

As Harry drew near, the glow of the light gently reflected off of the desk's surface, revealing the imprint of random, scattered rows of Hermione's neat penmanship.

He ran his fingers over the impressions as he imagined Hermione sitting here, bent over essays assigned over winter break, or Hermione sitting casually on a bright summer day, writing a letter to him, the windows pulled open wide, a warm, sluggish breeze capturing a bit of her hair.

The visualization made him feel abruptly and inextricably possessive, protective, and appreciative. The feeling hit him like a ton of bricks, and as he continued to examine the objects adorning Hermione's desk, the feeling only grew.

As one who knew her would rightly imagine, stacks of books littered the majority of the surface of Hermione's desk, piles containing information from a wide range of topics from history to potions, and labeled with varied titles from _A Witches Guide to the Ancient Runes of Great Britain_ to _Pride and Prejudice_ , a title which Harry recognized as Muggle in origin.

There were other likely objects- quill and parchment, ink and pencils, all neatly lined up and stored in rectangular trays.

What caught Harry's eye were the more personal affects; a small trophy whose plaque read "Spelling Bee Champion," a figurine of a snowy owl, a scarf woven with threads of crimson and gold (a small 'HG' embroidered in one corner), and a framed picture of himself, Ron, and Hermione.

In the picture, the three were walking side by side, outdoors in their school robes. All three were laughing heartily, Ron nearly bent over, wiping tears from his eyes, and Harry and Hermione beaming at one another over Ron's head.

Recognizing the candid photograph likely as one of Colin Creevey's, Harry gingerly picked up the frame in both hands, as if disturbing the item would somehow erase the memory, somehow disrespect the boy who'd taken the photo.

Harry didn't know much about photography, anything really, but he recognized that the photo was far from perfect. The color was off somehow, real life didn't look that bright, and some things that probably should've been in focus were blurred.

Harry wished he could remember the details of the captured moment, but nothing came to him. He couldn't remember the last time he or Hermione looked that carefree.

He was glad Colin had encapsulated it.

 _Maybe he figured how much Hermione'd need to be reminded of happier times_ , Harry thought.

The brightness and blurriness, although imperfect, accurately portrayed just how Harry felt about his now hazy memories of less complicated times.

He appreciated the photo a little longer, watching the figures of himself, Ron, and Hermione continue to laugh and joke with each other. The images of Ron and Harry jokingly shoved one another, knocking Harry's broom, which he had been holding, to the ground. Hermione gave Ron a playful smack on the arm, rolling her eyes in Harry direction.

 _Merlin, I wish she would wake up._

The blurriness of the image began to spread and increase in intensity, and it took Harry a long time to realize that it was not the photo itself, but the newly formed tears in his eyes.

As much as he longed for the type of carefree moment captured in Colin's photo, if given the choice, he _wouldn't_ choose to go back, not now, not after all that had been sacrificed, including Colin himself, and all that had been overcome.

Harry didn't know much of what he wanted for his future, as he hadn't ever really allowed himself to consider it before.

Now that the war was over, for a start, he hoped that he, Ron, and Hermione could slowly edge through the haze, toward those types of moments again, that the fog of fear, uncertainty, and loss will dissipate to let joy and _life_ grow in its place.

Harry roughly wiped his eyes.

He placed the frame carefully back on Hermione's desk, unsure if she would like him looking at her things without being there herself. But his new conscious effort to try to get to know his best friend better, and his growing feeling of possessiveness or protectiveness (or whatever it was, Harry couldn't determine), won out, and he continued exploring her desk.

He rotated the owl figurine in its place to better see its face, and smirked in satisfaction at the lack of presence of any tawny owl, cat, toad, or rat figurine on the shelf.

Harry wondered if maybe Hermione had bonded with Hedwig more than he'd ever given notice.

He leaned forward with smiling eyes to better appreciate Hermione's spelling bee trophy, unsurprised that her academic achievements were likely as numerous throughout her Muggle education as magic.

Having moved closer to the desk, Harry could now see a delicate chain in a small tray next to the trophy. It was a bracelet adorned with a few small metal flowers of a light purplish-blue, a color that reminded Harry of the dress Hermione wore to the Yule Ball.

Most would consider it relatively uncommon for a man to recall the details of a female friend's clothing, but the way Hermione looked the night of the Yule Ball, and how the events of the evening had unfolded, had made an impression on Harry.

He wondered why neither Hermione nor her parents appeared to own a framed photograph of Hermione from that night.

While that evening had been entirely unpleasant for Harry, the image of Hermione in her dress, dancing freely and unabashedly (and surprisingly deftly) with Victor Krum, was certainly that night's redeeming factor.

Harry certainly did not see it that way at the time, but he could now.

He remembered feeling happy for his best friend, and also envious that she was having such a great time. But it was all overshadowed as he sat, uncomfortable in his own skin, miserably humoring Ron's complaints.

Harry suddenly imagined himself dancing with Hermione, at George and Angelina's upcoming wedding. Maybe he'd give it a go this time, for her.

 _If she's even awake by then,_ Harry mused darkly.

If she wasn't awake by then, Harry knew exactly where he would be spending most of the event, right there, in Hermione's room.

He'd danced with his best friend one time, alone, on a cold night in the middle of a forest, to an unnamed warbled melody.

Harry pictured it in his mind, but he couldn't allow himself to ponder on it- it hurt too much.

Reality returning, he again focused on the flower bracelet, and he recalled that the Yule Ball had gone sour for Hermione as well, after Ron had, rather artlessly, let his far-from-kind opinions known to her.

 _I think that's a night we'd all rather forget_ , Harry thought glumly, embarrassed at the memory of what a terrible friend he'd been, how he hadn't stood up for Hermione.

 _Not that she needed it_ , Harry thought, recalling how she'd eventually told Ron off.

He shook his head determinedly, _never again_.

Harry then reached out to touch the tassels of Hermione's Gryffindor scarf. He thought maybe he had one of these lying around somewhere, perhaps stuffed in the bottom of his trunk at Andromeda's, and he chuckled dryly to himself at the manifestation of the comparison between Hermione's care and his carelessness.

Her scarf looked well-loved, while he was sure his was unraveling, if it was even still in his possession.

He lifted the scarf from its hanging place, and placed it over his shoulders, so the ends fell over his chest.

It was then that Harry identified a scent that was distinctly Hermione's. It smelled of warmth, and parchment, and something like cinnamon. He'd never noticed nor identified it before, but her scarf was pleasantly concentrated in it.

He tossed one end of the scarf over his shoulder, so it hung loosely around his neck, and took a deep breath as he relaxed himself into the desk's wooden chair. He tucked himself in, as if he were about to write a letter.

Again, he pictured Hermione sitting where he now sat, which was easy to do with the scent of her scarf just under his nose, and he tried to see through Hermione's eyes, to feel what she might have felt, sitting here before the War, planning to obliviate her parents.

He wondered if she felt alone then, an emotion Harry had often considered his personal shadow, and all he felt was more regret.

Hermione never asked for help, but was always the first one to offer it to Harry.

 _We should've helped her._

Crookshanks, who was curled up in the chair beside Hermione's bed, mewed, as if hearing his thoughts, seconding the sentiment.

Something came over Harry then, perhaps his new resolve or, the sudden swell of protectiveness for his best friend, all blended with his absolute exhaustion, something which prompted him to gather quill, ink, and parchment, and write.

The words flowed from the tip of the quill like water from a broken faucet- rapid, uncontrolled, and messy. Harry ran his free hand through his hair, while the white lines of the scar on his other hand, 'I must not tell lies,' glistened tellingly in the light.

What he wrote, while incoherent in places, certainly contained no lies, only resolve and promise.

Harry recorded his promise to himself, and to Hermione.

He recognized he was being a bit dramatic, but it was something he felt he had to do, to make himself accountable.

And Mr. Granger and McGonagall were right, he had to let go of his guilt, to focus all his energy on his resolve.

When he was done, he folded the parchment and placed it in one of the drawers in Hermione's desk. He didn't care if she found it before he could retrieve it.

In fact, he hoped Hermione would one day learn of his promise, and be able to tell him he'd made good on it.

Again, Crookshanks mewed, as if approving Harry's actions.

Harry then walked over to the kneazle, and reached in his pocket to retrieve another treat.

Crookshanks rapidly approved, taking the treat into his mouth, and swiftly leaping from his cozy spot on the chair, offering Harry his seat.

"Thanks, mate."

Harry was surprised when Crookshanks cautiously crept back onto Harry's lap, purring, curling up for sleep.

"All it took was a few treats, eh?" Harry asked aloud, petting the cat. Crookshanks only kept on purring.

But it wasn't just the treats (although those had gone neither unnoticed nor unappreciated) that got Crookshanks to again befriend Harry- it was his promise, and the way he still had Hermione's scarf wrapped around his neck, and the way he took her motionless hand in his own just before he fell asleep in the chair, whispering, "Wake up, Hermione, wake up."

While Andromeda's calming potions and spells usually helped Hermione sleep more restfully, in that moment, no potion or charm was strong enough to withhold a surge of Hermione's will.

By no coincidence, magic, sleep magic, emanated from her fingertips, as a blanket by the foot of her bed drifted slowly toward Harry, to land gently on his lap (leaving Crookshanks undisturbed, of course), covering his legs.

Sleeping peacefully now, Harry unknowingly settled more comfortably into the chair, and sighed in contentment, surrounded by the scent of warmth, parchment, and something like cinnamon.

/

/

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8 - First Snow

Ron managed to wake up early the next morning, likely because his sleep had been terrible, so terrible in fact, he felt he hadn't really slept at all.

He readied himself with more caution than usual, not wanting the creak of the floorboards that would undoubtedly occur to wake his parents.

As he ambled tiredly into the kitchen to get himself a bite to eat, he immediately saw that his caution had been in vain, as Molly Weasley was already busy in the kitchen.

Her attention was divided between the making of breakfast and the decorating of wedding candy favors, in the shapes of Christmas trees with chocolate string lights that actually glowed, and snowmen whose carrot noses wiggled.

"Morning, Ron! Sleep well?" Molly sung, then winced at her own mistake, realizing too late that of course her son had not slept well, with Hermione still in an unconscious state.

She was ashamed to admit it, but she had been so preoccupied with wedding preparations, she hadn't let herself think much of Hermione, and had visited less than she knew she should.

Even more, getting to the core of it, Molly consciously tried _not_ to think about Hermione, in a feeble attempt to quell the still present fear of losing another one of her children, an event that she feared would truly break her.

Before Ron could reply, she said sincerely, "I'm sorry, Ron. Any news?" She gently placed a plate of sausage, eggs, and toast in front of him as he said down.

"No, but Harry's got McGonagall, Slughorn, and Flitwick working hard."

Molly nodded and watched her youngest son push food around on his plate.

"Try to eat something, you'll need it."

Ron brought a bite to his mouth, but the sight and smell sickened him. How could he just sit here eating breakfast like nothing was wrong? He sighed, and placed the fork back down.

Molly pressed no further, and felt it best to change the subject.

"Your sister will be home any day now."

"Yeah, did she say when?" Ron asked. Ginny never mentioned to him exactly what day she'd be home.

"She mentioned maybe later this week," Mrs. Weasley informed.

"She'll be around to help… with the wedding."

Ron managed a small smile, to show his mum he was happy for George and looking forward to seeing Ginny, but admittedly, the smile was forced.

His thoughts were riddled with worry. He couldn't help her.

Ron noticed Hermione seemed a bit worried during their trip to Australia, but he figured it was because her fear of what her parents might do or say after she restored their memories. Upon their return home, he'd noticed how short-tempered she sometimes seemed to be, but again, he chalked it up to the stress of dealing with things after the war in addition to their usual level and occurrence of disagreement.

He'd struggled with wanting to become closer to her, but also feeling like maybe she wanted space. Plus, he didn't really know _how_ to be a boyfriend. He hadn't always been able to give Hermione what she needed as a friend, something that Harry'd always seemed to manage better, so he had deep doubts concerning how he was going to be able to be a good _boyfriend_ , whatever that meant.

For perhaps the thousandth time, Ron wondered why Hermione hadn't told him anything.

Ron sighed again and dumped his full plate into the sink.

"I'm going to the Grangers.' I think Neville will be coming by with Luna today."

"That's lovely of him, and Luna too. Xenophilius stopped by here yesterday to offer help with the wedding."

This made Ron chuckle, envisioning Luna's dad making wedding favors, setting up a tent, and creating floral decorations. The thought of that man assisting with anything generally considered even a _bit_ normal was absurd.

Although Xenophilius had betrayed Harry, Ron, and Hermione during the war, no one argued that it had been out of pure desperation. While their relationship with him had been nothing short of reserved immediately following the war, the man had done all he could to make amends, and the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione now shared a tentative kind of friendship with Luna's father.

"Don't laugh, Ronald, it's awfully kind of him," Molly chastised, although with a smile. "And take these with you," she handed Ron two bottles of a mysterious and chunky purplish liquid, before Ron could step out the door, "it'll help you feel better."

Ron looked down at the grotesquely colored bottles, and was glad his stomach was empty. He couldn't deny his mother though, he knew she was only trying to help.

"Thanks, mum," he managed, before disapparating.

/

/

As Ron walked down the hall toward Hermione's room, he heard Mr. and Mrs. Granger speaking quietly inside.

Ron was surprised they hadn't heard him venturing up the stairs, but he knew was moving more slowly than usual.

"Is that… Hermione's scarf?" He heard Mr. Granger inquire from within.

"Should we wake him, Alan?"

"No, no, let him sleep… one of Hermione's professors wrote us and she mentioned that Harry has been researching non-stop."

"I know he's here at night, but I don't think he usually sleeps."

Ron was confused. _Let_ who _sleep? Harry? Harry's at Hogwarts._

All was revealed though, as Ron craned his neck a bit more to get a better look into Hermione's room, remaining unseen from his place in the hall.

There, in a chair beside Hermione's bed, he saw Harry, asleep in a chair, a scarf indeed around his neck, Hermione's hand in his.

Without warning, Ron felt uneasy again, but it was not due to his mum's bottles of purple liquid he held in his hands.

 _Oh no…_ Ron internally groaned to himself. He thought he'd buried his jealously for good the night he destroyed the locket, but here it was again, creeping back into his consciousness with a renewed vengeance.

He remembered the ghostly shapes of Harry and Hermione kissing, bursting forth from that wretched locket, and it made him feel sick.

He never told Hermione about the locket, and wondered vaguely if Harry had.

"Well, should we at least move his hand?" Mrs. Granger whispered, as if trying to keep a secret.

Ron knew Mrs. Granger was unaware of his presence, but he _was_ listening.

"Why would we do that?"

"Oh, Alan… _Ron_ …" Mrs. Granger's voice could barely be heard. "He'll probably be here any minute."

Ron could _feel_ Mr. Granger's shrug through the wall.

He then saw Mrs. Granger smack him lightly on the arm. "Don't play favorites. You know who Hermione's chosen."

Ron felt his jealousy surge, and then disappear just as quickly. He suddenly felt very put out.

 _Hermione's parents like Harry more than me._ _Who_ doesn't _like Harry better?_ Ron thought, devoid of emotion.

"You know that's not true! I like them both equally," Mr. Granger retorted quickly and truthfully.

He was still getting to know them in person, rather than through Hermione's letters, but Mr. Granger did like Ron and Harry very much. "They are both good young men… but I wonder, does Hermione really know what she's doing? She shouldn't be _dating_ anyone at all right now... or ever."

"They're all so young. No one that age knows what they're doing. We didn't."

Ron felt his numbness subside a bit. He also found himself agreeing with Mrs. Granger. He didn't know what he was doing.

 _I'm being ridiculous. Hermione_ did _choose me, and Harry said he didn't think of Hermione in any other way than a friend, a sister… but Hermione's never said much about what she thinks of Harry, not that I really want to know. Do I?_

Ron knew he was lying to himself.

 _Maybe they_ should _take Harry's hand away… Hermione might get a cramp._

As much as he tried to remind himself that Hermione chose him, it often didn't feel as though anything had changed at all. Certainly nothing notable had changed between Harry and Hermione, if anything, Ron only noticed that his best friends were closer, that they only seemed _more_ comfortable around each other now that the war was over, if that was even possible.

"But they don't _seem_ so young… God, especially Harry and Hermione when you talk to them sometimes. They've been through more than most adults. It's not fair… I'm not sure any of them really ever got to just be teenagers."

Through the space in the doorway, Ron saw Mrs. Granger raise an eyebrow. "That may be true, but they _are_ still very young, especially where relationships are concerned."

Mr. Granger conceded with a shrug.

"I know where you're coming from though, Alan. They do seem beyond their years…" Mrs. Granger continued. "And from Hermione's letters, it always seemed like Harry would be… well, seeing them together… anyone might wonder the same thing."

Ron's jealously was back.

 _What does she mean 'together'?_ Ron wondered.

 _Get it together, you dolt._

Ron admitted to himself that Harry and Hermione had probably just acted like their usual selves, whenever it was Mrs. Granger was referring. Harry and Hermione _just being_ Harry and Hermione had always been enough for people to think his best friends were, or should be, something more than friends.

"I just wish…"

Mrs. Granger started to cry.

Ron took this as his cue to silently make his way back downstairs. He didn't want the Grangers to know he'd been listening.

He knew they would probably leave for work soon, so he decided to take a walk around Hermione's neighborhood, in what he knew would be a futile attempt to quell his jealousy and his fear.

Ron was determined to try to handle his emotions better than he had in the past. After leaving Harry and Hermione to fend for themselves, alone in the woods, just about a year ago now, he knew he didn't have many, if any, chances left to earn Hermione's complete trust.

 _I need to get over this,_ Ron thought. _But how?_

/

/

That night, sleeping in the chair by Hermione's bedside, Harry slept peacefully until he heard what he could have sworn was Neville's voice.

 _I must be dreaming_ , Harry thought, staring into blackness.

"I need to collect more gnome saliva. Neville, your grandmother doesn't happen to have a garden gnome colony, does she?"

 _Is that… Luna? Harry was confused now._

"Oi, I think sleeping beauty over here is waking up."

 _Ron?_

Harry tried to open his eyes, but only black remained. His head felt heavy, and hot, and… furry?

"I think maybe you ought to shoo Crookshanks off of him."

"I don't know how he has't suffocated," Neville said. Harry could hear him smiling.

"Neville?" Harry managed to croak.

"Come here, Crookshanks," Luna beckoned sweetly, and suddenly Harry was blinded by bright afternoon light.

It took Harry a few moments to realize that he'd been awake, with his eyes open right into Crookshanks' thick fur.

"Rise and shine," Ron said from across Hermione's bed. He was sitting in another chair at her bedside, gazing at her worriedly.

"Is she…"

"Asleep?" Ron said. "Yeah." Anyone could hear the sadness in Ron's voice.

"Hi, Harry," Neville said, clapping Harry on the back as Harry stood to stretch, brushing Crookshanks' fur deposits from his own hair.

"Thanks for coming by Neville, Luna," Harry said.

Luna waved kindly at Harry from her cross-legged position on the floor, where she was now playing with Crookshanks, who was batting something between his paws with the energy of a kitten.

"Of course, anything for Hermione," Neville said sincerely.

"What…." Harry yawned, "time is it?"

"Nearly dinner. You've been sleeping all day."

"That explains why I can't turn my head," Harry joked, attempting in vain to massage the knots from his neck, and realizing that he was still wearing Hermione's scarf. He blushed, and hoped no one noticed it wasn't his.

He tried to keep his guilt for sleeping the day away at bay.

"Here," Ron said, tossing him a bottle filled with a purplish liquid, "mum made this for you."

While Ron spoke with a lightness to his tone, it seemed a bit forced, and Harry sensed something was off with him. He also noticed that Ron was suspiciously eying the Gryffindor scarf.

"What is it?" Harry asked, shaking the bottle and opening the lid, wearily eyeing the purple chunks that fell from the cap, plopping back into the bottle.

"Dunno, a drink to 'help you feel better.' I chucked mine in the plant downstairs."

"What did the fern do to deserve that?" Neville joked.

Harry screwed the cap back on tightly, and placed the bottle on a windowsill, out of reach and out of sight.

"A butterbeer would be better right now," Neville said cheerily, and Ron whooped.

Harry chuckled, "Not a bad idea. Definitely when Hermione wakes up."

The room immediately turned sober then, the sounds of Hermione's quiet breaths and Crookshanks playing emanating through the silence.

"Any updates?" Harry asked, feeling as though he had a lot to catch up on.

"No, but Andromeda was by earlier, and she says you should go home."

"I can't," Harry immediately replied.

"I know, I told her you'd say so, but I had to pass along the message under threat of bodily harm. 'Dromeda's got a scary side to her."

"She is Tonk's mum, after all," Harry replied, recalling Tonks' unique fierceness with fondness.

"Oi, Crookshanks! Come here!" Harry looked down and saw Neville crouched on his hands and knees, his head almost entirely under Hermione's bed, calling for the cat.

"I think he's playing with that toy you brought him," Ron said to Luna, "he's hoarding it away under there."

"His toy is in the corner," Luna replied from across the room, picking up a small toy that bore the resemblance of a radish. Ron remembered Luna's radish earrings (which were currently replaced with snowflakes hanging from her lobes), and reminded himself to ask her later why she loved radishes so much.

"The little bugger's definitely got something," Neville said, his arms disappearing under the bed as well.

"Hopefully not a spider," Ron said, picking his feet up from the floor and curling his legs around him in his chair.

Harry laughed, musing how Ron had faced horcruxes and death eaters, but was still somehow afraid of spiders, "Maybe one of Aragog's grandchildren has come to pay Hermione a visit."

Ron closed his eyes and shuddered, "Bloody spiders."

"Crookshanks, let me see…"

A sudden hiss came from under the bed, and the sound of Neville's skull rapidly whacking the underside of the wooden bed frame echoed through the room.

As Neville slowly, and with an acute lack of coordination, picked himself up from the floor, Harry took ahold of his arm, "Steady, mate."

"It's all right, Harry, I'm about due for a concussion," Neville said sarcastically, as he wobbled over to a vacant chair, his head in his hand.

"Let me see," Luna said with calm determination, radish toy in hand, as she crouched beside the bed, where Neville had just been.

Ron, who had momentarily relaxed his legs for an instant, quickly lifted them from the floor again.

Harry shook his head, smiling at his best friend, and waited for Luna to retrieve whatever was occupying Crookshanks so intently under Hermione's bed.

"Yes, what a good boy," Luna crooned, "let's trade."

In an instant, Harry could hear Crookshanks' loud, crackly purr. It seemed the cat shared Luna's love of radishes.

"Well, at least he likes someone other than Hermione," Ron said.

"He likes me too," Harry said proudly.

Ron raised an eyebrow.

"What? He does! He slept in my lap last night."

"Right," said Ron doubtfully, "and I'm Minister for Magic."

 _He's even got Crookshanks on his side_. Ron ruminated, his feelings from the morning not far from his mind, recalling the conversation he'd overheard between Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

"I'm not sure what this is," Luna said, rising from the floor, gently examining something small, brown, and dry in the palm of her hand.

"Dust and fur, probably," Ron proclaimed, without taking much of a look, no doubt basking in his relief that it was not a spider after all.

"Slughorn said not to throw away anything that we find in here," Harry said as Luna moved to allow Harry to inspect the item more closely.

No one noticed that Neville hadn't blinked since Luna arose from the floor, his gaze fixed on the item in her hand.

"It couldn't be…" Neville whispered from his chair, from which he hastily jumped in order to rummage through his bag by the door.

"I don't think you were joking about that concussion," Ron said worriedly, observing Neville's unusual behavior.

Harry and Luna had no time to react as Neville emerged from his bag with a small, glass container and hastily scooped the object from Luna's hand, without laying a finger on it, no less.

He closed the lid tightly, the object now inside.

Harry looked to Luna for an explanation, thinking Neville had clearly lost his mind, and although Luna didn't look the least bit surprised, she didn't say a word.

"Neville- what… what are you-?" Harry sputtered.

"No time, Harry," Neville was frantic, his eyes wide yet determined, as he rapidly threw on his coat and slung his bag over his shoulder.

"We've got to get to Hogwarts, to Professor Sprout. Now." He looked directly at Harry, then gestured to the container in his hands, as if that explained everything, and tightened his grip around it.

Harry was lost. How did Neville know he'd been working with their professors?

"Harry, Ron and I let Neville know that you've been helping with the research at Hogwarts," Luna assured, as if reading Harry's mind, "we told him all about what's been happening."

 _Right._ Harry thought, realizing he was being a bit slow.

"Right now, Harry, c'mon!" Neville urged.

"Neville, relax! What are you on about?!" Ron interrupted, trying to inject sense into the situation.

Everything suddenly came together for Harry, and he realized that Neville was likely onto something to help Hermione, something that had to do with the little brown flake Crookshanks had discovered.

The world came rushing back into focus. Harry sprang to action.

"Let's go," he declared.

As he hastily took Neville's hand in his own to disapparate, Hermione's still slumbering form filled Harry's view.

Then they were gone.

"What in Merlin's beard!?" Ron exclaimed.

"I hope Harry remembered to deliberate," Luna said, concerned how abruptly Harry and Neville had disapparated.

"Hello!?" Ron and Luna heard an unexpected voice call from downstairs.

"Let's go, Ron, Ginny's here."

"My sister? That couldn't be-"

"Oi, is anyone here?! Or am I in some other Muggle's house?!" The disembodied voice called again.

"Ginny's here," Ron affirmed flatly, "let's go." But Luna was already out the door, heading downstairs to see her friend.

"Right then."

/

/

Harry arrived just outside the gates separating Hogwarts from the path that led to Hogsmeade, standing in the apparation spot he'd been allowed by McGonagall, with Neville by his side.

It was snowing steadily over Hogwarts' grounds, and the wind was picking up. For more than one reason, Harry was glad he'd forgotten to remove Hermione's scarf from his neck.

He and Neville broke into a hasty jog nearly a moment after landing, heading through the open gate. As they neared the doors of the castle, they saw Hagrid heading out, likely to grab a pint, or ten, in Hogsmeade.

"Wotcher there, boys… er- men…" Hagrid boomed as they neared.

"I dunno what to call you lot these days. Where're you headed in such a hurry?"

Harry and Neville slowed, as Hagrid took up most of the pathway.

"Sorry Hagrid…. no time… to talk…." Harry said breathlessly.

"Looking for…. Professor Sprout," Neville continued, panting.

"Sprout? Oh, I reckon she's over in the greenhouses, as per usual. Now, how's my Hermione doing?" Hagrid began to ask, but Harry and Neville had already trotted off toward the greenhouses.

"See you later, Hagrid!" Harry called.

Hagrid merely waved his hand dismissively over his shoulder, and shook his head with a hearty chuckle.

/

Harry and Neville indeed found Professor Sprout in the greenhouses, up to her elbows in dirt, and something green and viscous.

"One moment!" Professor Sprout called, hearing them approach.

Harry and Neville took the moment to catch their breaths.

Had they not been so distracted, they would have seen Professor Sprout's arm, or rather, would have noted the disappearance of her arm, halfway up the trunk of a rather stout, menacing tree.

"Mr.'s Potter and Longbottom, what can I do for you both?" She said briskly, walking toward them, having carefully extracted her arm, which she was now wiping clean with a haggard looking cloth. She did not seem to think anything of it, nor of the late hour.

"Does this have anything to do with Ms. Granger's condition?"

Harry looked to Neville then, he wasn't exactly sure _why_ they were here.

"I think I've found something that might help Hermione," Neville explained as he rummaged through his bag.

"I wasn't sure at first, but now I'm pretty positive that it's Wig-"

"Wiggentree bark," Professor Sprout finished. "Quite right, Neville." she continued, obviously proud of her former student.

"We found it in Hermione's room, under her bed. Her cat was playing with it," Harry informed, as if this bit of information was entirely necessary.

"The silly buggers, can't resist the stuff," Professor Sprout said.

"Yes, this could certainly have implications for Hermione, if she was experimenting with it. The other items Slughorn and Flitwick brought me were nothing more than bits of cat fur, hair, and dust. This however…"

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Sprout looked to Neville, her confidence in him shwoing.

"A Wiggentree is usually filled with bowtruckles, it's where they live. It's like a rowan tree. The bark has protective properties, against dark magic and dark creatures. It's also used in the Wiggenweld Potion…"

"The potion that's supposed to reverse sleeping draught?" Harry asked, remembering the healer who used it on Hermione, to try to diagnose her withdrawal.

"Right, but it really has no purpose being used on someone like Hermione, on people who are supposedly in sleeping draught _withdrawal._ It doesn't do anything except maybe help them stay a bit calm," Neville informed.

"The thing with wiggentree bark, most people don't know, it's pretty volatile if it's not stored or used correctly. And the bark is really picky, it has a life of its own. You usually have to harvest it and use it right away, or store it with bowtruckles."

Sprout nodded with satisfaction, "Very good, Neville!"

Neville beamed.

Although Harry had stopped running minutes ago, his heart was beating faster now. Could this- this Wiggenwhatever- be the key?

"Let's bring this to Professor Slughorn. I should think he's popping open his evening mead right at this moment."

/

/

Hours passed, and Ron, Ginny, and Luna were eventually joined by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Hermione's parents.

After Harry and Neville's swift disappearance earlier, Ron had contacted Andromeda as well, alerting her that they may have found something.

She brought Teddy along, and the boy merrily played on the floor of Hermione's room with Crookshanks and the prized radish toy.

"So tell me again… it was small, and brown?" Andromeda inquired.

"Yes, like bark, or parchment. Very light," Luna informed.

Andromeda's brow furrowed. "I wish my Herbology knowledge was better, but we have specialists at St. Mungo's for that."

Mr. Weasley nodded. "Takes years of practice and study to identify magical herbs and plants by sight alone. Many of them look so similar."

"Looked like dirt to me," Ron explained.

"Thank goodness Neville recognized it as something potentially important," Molly said, sat in the chair by Hermione's desk. She picked up Teddy from the floor to bounce him on her knee.

He squealed in delight.

"Neville's amazing at Herbology," Ginny affirmed, sitting crosslegged on the floor with Luna at the foot of Hermione's bed, "of course I come _after_ all the action… and I wanted to see Neville, too. But when he wrote me he said be at the wedding, I'll see him then at least."

"You two write?" Ron asked, perplexed.

"Yeah, Ron, Neville's allowed to have more than just you for a friend, y'know."

"We're happy you were able to come at all," Mrs. Granger interrupted, "Hermione's told us about your training keeping you quite tied up."

Ginny blushed, "Oh, that's nothing. I want to be here for Hermione."

"You'll be staying until after the wedding now, right Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Yeah, of course, even though George, that git, he couldn't wait?"

"He wanted to," said Ron, "Angelina, too. But we all told them not to wait."

"Hermione wouldn't want that," Mr. Granger interjected.

Everyone nodded in silence. Hermione wouldn't want George to delay any happiness he could find after the war, after losing Fred.

"Luna, do you want to head back to the Burrow with me?" Ginny asked as a clock somewhere in the house struck midnight.

Hours had passed, and no word from Neville or Harry had come.

"That's not a bad idea, dear," Mrs. Weasley said.

"It could be quite some time, for all we know," Mr. Weasley said.

Molly passed Teddy to Andromeda as she stood to leave with her daughter, Arthur, and Luna.

"We'll be on our way then, too," Andromeda said, referring to Teddy and herself.

"Ron, do you want to come with us?" Luna inquired.

Ron looked to Hermione, then to Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

"Go get some rest, Ron," Mrs. Granger assured. Mr. Granger was expressionless.

Ron felt as if he _should_ stay, but if pressed to admit, he did want to leave, as he knew he'd probably have better success getting some sleep in his own bed, especially after he hadn't really slept the night before. Plus, Ron figured, it didn't seem like Hermione would have any change of status.

Without word from Harry and Neville, Ron knew it was unlikely they would hear from them anytime soon.

"All right," he resigned.

"We'll see you in the morning then," Mr. Granger said tiredly, running a hand through his short brown hair, and plopping into one of the chairs by Hermione's bedside.

 _I wish Harry would send word_ , Mr. Granger thought, feeling as though the young man might be Hermione's only hope.

/

/

Indeed, as Slughorn opened the door to his quarters, he did so with a half-filled glass clasped in his free hand. He had not yet changed into his pajamas, however.

"Pomona, what brings you here this evening?" He asked, his door open only halfway.

"I fear I'm terribly busy- oh, is that you, Potter, and Mr. Longbottom, too?"

The door swung open fully.

"Well, what are you lot doing standing out in the hall, come in, come in," he beckoned them forward.

"Mr.'s Potter and Longbottom have discovered wiggentree bark in Ms. Granger's room."

"Wiggentree bark, you say? Very finicky stuff, that. Nightcap anyone?"

Slughorn did not give Harry or Neville time to respond before stuffing a glass full of mead in each of their hands. It did not go unnoticed that he did not offer any to Professor Sprout.

"Harry, I hope you still don't mind I call you that, my boy, did you know that Mr. Longbottom here pulled the sword of Gryffindor from the sorting hat during the final battle?" Again, Slughorn did not give anyone a chance to respond.

"Of course you did, you were there, but did you know that he wasted no time in handing the sword over to Headmistress McGonagall? I dare say, Mr. Longbottom, you are indeed a loyal Gryffindor through and through!" Slughorn clapped Neville on the back, rather roughly, causing Neville to sputter on a sip of mead.

"What I would've given to-"

"Horace Slughorn!" Professor Sprout exclaimed, her cheeks quite red, "These young men have come for your help, and we all know what Mr. Longbottom and Mr. Potter sacrificed for the war effort, so _I_ dare say, you best remove your ample head from your arse and tend to their query!"

With that, Professor Sprout left them in Professor Slughorn's quarters, slamming the door behind her.

It was Harry's turn to sputter now. He could barely contain his laughter.

Professor Slughorn hardly batted an eye as he said, "Right, then. Wiggentree bark. You found it in Ms. Granger's room?"

Neville and Harry nodded.

"I wonder…" Slughorn said, refilling his glass.

Harry and Neville leaned forward.

"We have to wonder first why Hermione was using Wiggentree bark. It's typically used in the Wiggenweld potion, to wake someone up, but no one knew she was using the potions, and you can't administer Wiggenweld to yourself when you're asleep, so there would be no one to administer it to her. So no reason to make it."

"The bark is also used to keep darkness at bay. Certainly, she's had her fair share of experience with dark magic. Perhaps she was trying to use it because she felt she was cursed. But there are herbs and plants much more effective at curse-breaking than wiggentree."

"Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and I, and Andromeda too, we all feel relatively certain Hermione was taking sleeping draught. There were traces of the completed potion all over her room."

"So…" Harry questioned, and Professor Slughorn met his gaze.

"Perhaps she was trying to protect herself from dark nightmares. The effects of sleeping draught become less potent after a while; with increased use, it is not as effective at creating dreamless sleep."

"And I don't consider Ms. Granger as someone reckless enough to feel the need to use Draught of the Living Dead."

Harry remembered his sixth year, in Slughorn's potions classroom, when he'd used Snape's textbook to make the potion. Slughorn had said, 'One drop would surely kill us all!'

The thought of Hermione making and ingesting that elixir herself made him ill.

"So what does this mean? You think Hermione was using wiggentree bark to help with nightmares?" Neville asked.

"Yes, in fact I believe I do. I believe she stored the bark incorrectly, or purchased it from someone who had. And I also feel that the wiggentree is perhaps increasing her nightmares, effecting her withdrawal."

"That's why that Wiggenweld Potion the healers gave her didn't calm her. It looks like she's been having nightmares sometimes too."

"Very astute, Harry!"

"So what do we do?" Harry questioned.

"Well, I believe some potion-making is in order," Slughorn said, setting his now empty glass on the table and rolling up his sleeves.

"If the three of us work together, it should be ready by dawn."

/

/

Dawn broke as Harry and Neville arrived appeared on the Grangers' doorstep. Their breath rose slowly as puffs of white smoke.

The sky was overcast, but the sun could be seen as a glowing sliver on the horizon. The neighborhood was silent, and snow was falling.

"I hope this works," Harry said quietly to Neville, clutching the vial in his pocket through the fabric of his coat.

Neville nodded solemnly.

"Even if it doesn't, Neville… thanks," Harry said earnestly. He felt lucky to have a friend like Neville, one who would stay up all night with you in a dank Potions lab to brew a potion that may not even work.

"No thanks needed, mate. But you still owe me that butterbeer."

Harry smirked. "I doubt Ron will let me forget."

They entered the house, and slowly ascended the stairs. Harry expected to find Ron at Hermione's bedside, but he found Mr. and Mrs. Granger instead.

Mrs. Granger appeared to be sleeping in one of the chairs by Hermione's side. Mr. Granger was wide awake, staring at his daughter, and rubbing her arm lightly. She appeared to be sleeping somewhat fitfully.

He met Harry's gaze hopefully. Harry nodded.

Mr. Granger promptly and silently stood from his chair, and moved to gently wake his wife.

"Jeanne, honey, Harry and Neville are back. They've got something for Hermione."

It took no loner than a moment for Mrs. Granger to become alert, indicating she herself hadn't been sleeping very soundly.

"We have a new potion to try to give Hermione. It's loaded with asphodel," Harry said.

"Lillies?" Mrs. Granger asked, and Neville nodded, "to counteract what we found in her room earlier."

"I thought Ron might be here, should we get him?" Harry asked.

"No, no, I don't think I can wait," Mrs. Granger said hastily.

"What about Andromeda?" Mr. Granger said worriedly.

"Professor Slughorn said this potion is so healing, a mother could give it to her newborn without worry," Harry informed. He was not inclined to wait either, not for this.

"Asphodel has strong stabilizing properties, especially to bad wiggentree bark," Neville informed.

Hermione's parents merely nodded, trusting Neville and Harry.

"Can I give it to her?" Mrs. Granger asked.

"Of course," Harry replied, handing over the vial.

Mrs. Granger sat next to Hermione's pillow, and propped her daughter's head up on her lap. She gently pushed hair from her face.

This seemed to calm Hermione a bit.

Mr. Granger stood behind his wife, and clasped her shoulders supportively.

Harry and Neville stood on either side of Hermione's bed. Harry positioned himself so Hermione's face was in plain view.

Mrs. Granger cautiously poured the potion into her daughter's mouth, as to not spill a drop. They watched.

They waited.

And waited.

Hermione's breathing slowed, her body stilled, and then…

"Harry?"

Her brown eyes opened slowly, to meet his gaze.

"Harry… are you okay?" It was Hermione. Her voice was quiet, and breathy, but it was Hermione.

She was awake.

Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd felt such uninhibited joy.

"Me?" He chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief, "yeah, Hermione, I am now. Are you okay?"

"I…I think so…"

Harry felt magic emanate uncontrollably from his core, but it wasn't like when he'd unwillingly made a mess of McGonagall's classroom. This magic was whole, and warm, and clear.

He didn't try to stop it.

And then it was snowing, inside Hermione's room. It fell lightly all around them. Harry watched the glistening flakes cling to Hermione's eyelashes.

Neville was smiling. Mrs. Granger was crying, and Mr. Granger, too.

"Harry, is that… is that my scarf?"

/

/

/

A/N: Thanks for reading! I've always liked the idea of uncontrolled magic in moments of strong emotion. I think the Draco Trilogy made this idea popular, and I know Harry did make it snow in the first part of that series, so full credit there!


	9. Chapter 9 - Wandless and Wordless

As it turned out, Hermione _had_ been experimenting with wiggentree bark, and, prior to her withdrawal, had been using sleeping draught for quite some time.

"The draught I was making… it was less and less effective…" Hermione explained tearfully to her parents, Harry, Ron, and Andromeda, not long after waking up.

She was cushioned in blankets, propped up in one of the upholstered chairs by her bed.

"My nightmares, they were getting worse," Hermione looked down the scar on her arm. "I thought, maybe Bellatrix had cursed me… my scar, it burns sometimes… I didn't know nightmares could be so _real_ …"

Harry understood, he faced his own battles with nightmares, and fought them still. But Harry was well-acquainted with nightmares of the most horrid variety, the waking kind too, and he considered maybe he'd built up some defenses from them over the years.

"But all my tests for curses were negative, and I mean, I've had nightmares before," Hermione said, looking at Harry, "but these just intensified. Even during the day, it was getting impossible to think…"

"I couldn't stand it anymore. So I researched sleeping draught, and nightmares, and curses… for weeks… and I tried to make a new potion that would just make the nightmares stop, that would help me think clearly again."

"So what happened the night Harry was over?" Mrs. Granger asked gently.

"I… I took my potion, it seemed ready… I'd tested it every way I know how. I really thought it would work."

Not only was Hermione ashamed at what she'd done, but that she hadn't even been able to do it correctly.

"Neville said wiggentree bark can be really volatile," Harry mentioned, in an attempt to make her feel better.

"I know. I bought it from Diagon Alley, the clerk seemed to know all the right things… I even saw some bowtruckles there."

"That must've cost you a fortune, Hermione. With sleeping draught and Wiggenweld potion in such high demand…" Andromeda explained, "The Ministry has seen a rise in poor quality wiggentree bark because of it, even counterfeit, but it's impossible to fully test the quality until it's used in a potion."

Hermione's eyes were downcast.

"I should report where I bought it to the Ministry then… the damage it could do…"

"That would be good of you, Hermione," Mr. Granger said.

"I just- how could I have been so stupid?"

"You're not alone, Hermione… war makes us do things we wouldn't normally dream of," Andromeda offered kindly, thinking of her patients at St. Mungo's.

Harry and Ron agreed, nodding. They'd both done things during the war they weren't necessarily proud of.

"You're not stupid, Hermione… you're A Gryffindor, so you do reckless things… like free a dragon from a bank run by goblins, and make Polyjuice potion when you're twelve, and… and stay friends with us for so long," Harry tried to lighten the mood.

Hermione smiled.

"He's got a point," Mr. Granger played along.

"Yeah, I think Harry and I've finally rubbed off on you a little _too_ much," Ron smiled.

There would be plenty of time to talk to Hermione about what she'd done, and why, but all Harry wanted to do at the moment was enjoy his best friend being back.

/

"You made it _snow_? Like, on purpose?" Ron asked incredulously, sitting closely beside Hermione at the Grangers' kitchen table. Ron hadn't left her side since Neville had gone to fetch him at the Burrow, shortly after she woke up.

Between Harry, Ron, her parents, and the milieu of other concerned individuals (including Neville, nearly every Weasley, Luna, Andromeda, Teddy, and even Professor Slughorn) who visited her over the past twenty-four hours, Hermione was beginning to wonder if she would ever have a moment alone again.

 _Not that I really mind though_ , Hermione thought, as she watched Harry grin at the mention of his indoor snow. She recalled the look on his face when she outed him for wearing her scarf, and smiled too.

"Well, yeah… and no," Harry said, scratching the back of his head, now blushing. He was leaning casually against the kitchen counter.

"It _was_ accidental, though, right Harry?" Mrs. Granger said, also seated next to Hermione.

"Er…"

"Hermione used to do that all the time, before Hogwarts. Snow… rain, too sometimes, among other things" Mr. Granger informed, making everyone a cup of tea.

"Even baby owls one time, remember that, Hermione?" said Mrs. Granger, "It took us ages to clean all the feathers."

Harry looked at Hermione in surprise, then recalled the snowy owl figurine on her desk upstairs.

" _Snowy_ owls, perhaps?" He asked, smirking.

"Maybe," Hermione said with a grin, "I might've had a thing for them… and when the snowy owls at Eeylops were too expensive before first year, well…"

"I didn't know you liked snowy owls _that_ much," Ron said, squeezing Hermione's hand in an attempt to meet her gaze, which was still on Harry.

She did turn to face Ron then, but with a noticeable wince. She was still feeling very weak. Ron dropped his hand immediately, mouthing 'sorry.'

Noticing Ron had seen her reaction clearly, she tried to give him a small smile to say it was okay.

"So many feathers," Mr. Granger reminisced, shaking his head, now handing out cups of tea, unaware of Ron and Hermione's silent exchange.

Mrs. Granger noticed, but said nothing.

"Yeah, but, stuff like happens _before_ you go to Hogwarts… y'know, when you're a kid, the magic just sort of… comes out," Ron explained, adding an unholy amount of sugar to his cup.

"When you feel a strong, uncontrolled emotion," Mrs. Granger added, letting the steam rise from her tea, looking to her daughter pointedly, "at least that was true with Hermione."

"Why'd that happen to you _now_ , though, Harry? Feeling all right?" Ron asked as he prepared Hermione's cup, in much the same fashion he'd prepped his own.

As Harry brought a steaming mug of tea to his lips, he realized everyone was looking at him, waiting for an answer.

Harry was quite certain the unexpected snow was due to the overwhelming sense of relief and joy he'd felt when Hermione woke up, but he didn't really feel like telling everyone present about it.

"I guess I…. I guess it just sort of…came out," Harry sipped his tea loudly, in an offbeat attempt to reduce the amount of attention currently directed toward him, but then he remembered the mess he'd unwillingly made of McGonagall's classroom with another accidental burst of magic.

"It happened the other day too… the accidental magic, I mean… nearly smashed a few windows in McGonagall's classroom…"

Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked at him with curiosity, and Hermione with astonishment. Ron laughed, "You might want to get that checked out Harry, before we all end up blown up like a balloon… didn't you do that to your aunt one time?"

Harry coughed on his tea, remembering the floating form of his Aunt Marge ascend over Privet Drive.

With Ron's comment, Hermione's parents' looks changed from curiosity to concern.

"Well," started Hermione, as if she were answering a question in class, "regardless of the outcome, it _is_ wandless magic. Very powerful witches and wizards can do windless magic."

Harry nodded, recalling Dumbledore's use of wandless magic.

"You sure it's not just because Harry's so emotionally labile?" Ron joked. Harry laughed, although admittedly, he certainly felt a bit emotionally labile over the last month. Hermione glared at them both, though not truly angry.

"Maybe you could try to direct your feelings into the magic. You should practice, Harry. Wandless magic is a very coveted skill… plus, Ron's right, you don't want to be turning us into balloons…" Hermione smirked.

"Hermione… but I thought you _liked_ snow," Harry said with a grin, again trying to steer the subject away from his _feelings,_ "At least you said so when we were in the Forest of Dean."

"The Forest of Dean?" Ron asked, bemused.

"Oh, the Forest of Dean, what a lovely place!" Mrs. Granger exclaimed.

"Did you bring Harry and Ron camping there, Hermione?" Mr. Granger inquired.

"Er- sort of," Hermione said quietly, staring into her cup of tea.

"Camping? You mean one of the places last year…" Ron asked.

Harry and Hermione shared a look. They both remembered the frosty Forest of Dean vividly, for many reasons.

Hermione remembered how Ron had returned, and she often wondered what truly happened with the locket, as Harry and Ron still hadn't told her, not that she really felt ready to ask yet… and by the way they avoided the subject, she wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer.

Hermione easily recalled feeling guilty about Harry's broken wand, and sorry for herself…

But now, with a new and sudden clarity, she remembered something else.

The beauty of the silent forest, covered in snow, reminded her of happier times with her parents, and she remembered thinking that it wasn't fair that she and Harry would never be able to have that happiness, the joy of reaching adulthood, of family.

In that moment, Hermione realized that Harry was the only person she had left. In the back of her mind, it seemed likely to her that Harry himself was a horcrux, and, considering their odds, she felt they'd both likely die before it was all over.

Out of desperation to give them a chance at happiness, perhaps the only chance they had left, she wondered if they could somehow escape their fate, disappear there together, in the Forest of Dean.

Hermione remembered feeling she'd be okay with that.

She hadn't allowed herself to recall these feelings since then, but now, they washed over her without abandon, making the hairs on her arm stand on end, sending a shiver down her spine.

"The patronus, Ron… the sword," Harry said quietly, reminding Ron.

Although Harry easily recalled his reckless attempt to retrieve the sword of Gryffindor, the appearance of Snape's patronus, and Ron's return, a new memory ventured forth out of the fog in his mind… something Hermione had said to him…

 _"_ _Maybe we should just stay here, Harry. Grow old…"_

At the time, Harry hadn't the capacity nor energy to consider Hermione's question, but he wondered about it now. He wanted to ask her about it, what she'd been thinking, but not with her parents, and certainly not with Ron, in the room.

 _Another time,_ Harry thought, and began to notice that perhaps when Ron had left them last year, to continue their horcrux search without him, he had created an invisible divide, perhaps a permanent one, that made Harry feel there were certain things he could say to Hermione, and Hermione only.

"Oh," Ron responded, and then the room was silent with all the things that were still left unsaid.

Mr. Granger cleared his throat, interrupting Harry, Ron, and Hermione's reveries.

"What happened in the Forest of Dean?"

After Hermione had woken up from her withdrawal, spending a few moments alone with her parents, she apologized at length to them, for keeping so much hidden, not just her sleepless nights and potion experimentation, but the greater part of the last two years.

She promised she wouldn't keep secrets like that from them anymore. It wasn't fair to them, or to herself, to keep it all inside.

Secrets, at least in part, had created this mess in the first place. She sensed she would have to explain to her best friends too, what she'd been going through, and she knew that it would likely be soon.

 _But not yet,_ Hermione thought.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other.

"Well…" Hermione began, and explained, as best she could, how Voldemort had split his soul, and how they'd gone on a quest to destroy each part, one by one.

She recounted information about each horcrux, generally how they'd found and destroyed each one, including the key events that had played out in the Forest of Dean. She could not, of course, explain _all_ the details of the destruction of the locket, however, as she still didn't know herself.

Harry filled in some details as needed, and Ron was notably silent.

Hermione purposefully evaded explaining the bit where Ron had left them.

She didn't want her parents to think poorly of Ron, but more than that, she still had trouble thinking about it. She wasn't ready to deal with how that memory continued to make her feel.

"So, whenever a horcrux was destroyed, something horrible happened," Mrs. Granger reviewed, taking it all in.

Hermione nodded, and took a sip of her tea. She grimaced at the too sweet, and now too cold, tea, and pushed it away. Ron frowned.

"So why didn't the locket react like the other horcruxes?" Mr. Granger asked, never one to ignore a missing detail.

"Well, it did," Harry said, and Ron shot daggers his way.

There was an awkward pause in conversation.

"So what _did_ happen?" Hermione asked Ron, sensing his unwillingness to discuss the subject.

"Well it- uh…" Ron sputtered.

Harry wanted to help Ron, to change the subject, but Harry sensed that another part of him, some part buried deep, did not.

Then again, Harry wasn't so sure he wanted Hermione's parents hearing about him kissing their daughter, even if it had only been an evil spectral shadow of him kissing an evil spectral shadow of her.

"A- shadow…" Harry offered weakly.

"Yeah!" Ron encouraged, "A shadow! Dark, very evil, showed me horrible things…"

"A… _shadow?_ " Hermione knew there was more to the story, more they were keeping from her.

She could feel it was perhaps for Ron's sake.

Harry decidedly and abruptly changed the subject then, and explained to Mr. and Mrs. Granger how he himself had been a horcrux, how he'd ultimately defeated Voldemort.

Harry purposefully avoided discussing Snape, and left out the bit where he died… or dreamt that he died…

He hadn't told anyone about that, not yet, anyway.

It was the first time he'd spoken aloud in any actual detail about what occurred in the Forbidden Forest, how he'd seen his parents, Sirius, and Lupin with the resurrection stone, how Narcissa Malfoy had covered for him.

By the time he was through, everyone was silent.

Harry saw Mrs. Granger unable to move her hand from her lips, tears threatening to spill from her eyes, Ron looking down in his lap, and Hermione, ashen and pale, never moving her eyes from Harry, as if he would disappear if she looked away.

Everyone was silent.

Mr. Granger stood and embraced Harry, like a son.

In that moment, nothing more needed to be said.

/

Dusk settled firmly by the time Harry finished his story, and everyone was hungry and exhausted.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger moved to prepare dinner, and Hermione stood to help.

"Woah…" She breathed, losing her footing.

Harry and Ron both rushed to her side. Mrs. Granger abruptly dropped the pan she was holding, and it clattered to the floor.

Hermione braced herself with both hands on the table, and shook her head, chuckling at herself.

"This is ridiculous… I'm okay, really… sit down, the two of you."

Ron held her left arm, and Harry her right.

"I think you should rest, Hermione," Ron offered.

"The irony of that is so frustrating," Hermione said, sitting down.

"Ron and I will help with dinner… right, Ron?" Harry said.

"Er…" Ron started.

"Don't worry, Ron," Mrs. Granger announced merrily, although she continued to look at her daughter with concern, "you can set the table, and Harry can help with the cooking."

The mood now lighter, the rest of the evening was pleasantly spent, at least for the most part, as Hermione continued to be frustrated with herself for feeling so weak, both physically and mentally.

As the darkness outdoors grew, transforming dusk to night, the pit inside of Hermione's stomach intensified. She knew she would have to try to _sleep_ soon, and as much as she knew her body wanted- _needed_ \- to sleep, she feared she would not.

Hermione promised her parents, Andromeda, Ron, and Harry, and more importantly herself, that she would no longer experiment with sleeping draught. Hermione was adamant she would never touch a drop of the draught again, and while Andromeda had given her other, admittedly less potent, potions to try to help her sleep more peacefully (while Mrs. Granger attempted to implement a regimen of melatonin and herbal tea), Hermione continued to fear the loss of control she had over her own mind and emotions.

She'd explained the occurrence of her nightmares, and the resulting fatigue and loss of focus, but she hadn't discussed the other burdens of her awake, conscious thoughts… the ones that seemed to continue to plague her, after the war.

When it was clear to all that it was time for everyone to try to get some rest, an uncomfortable quiet fell upon the Grangers' living room.

Harry suddenly realized that he could not stay at the Grangers' forever. As much as he wanted Hermione to try to rest, he didn't want to leave her.

It felt as though he needed to be by her side, to keep her safe… or maybe to give himself his own peace of mind.

 _What will we do if we stay though,_ Harry wondered, _sit and watch her sleep?_ A sarcastic part of Harry smirked internally at the irony.

 _That's just what she needs to help her sleep, a bunch of people watching her._

"It's all right, Ron, Harry, go get some sleep," Hermione said, truly wishing she could ask them to stay, to avoid the inevitable.

"You can come back first thing in the morning."

"You sure?" Ron asked. Harry got the feeling that Ron was uneasy at the idea of leaving Hermione too.

"We'll be close by," Mrs. Granger assured.

Ron stood, and walked to where Hermione sat, Crookshanks contentedly purring on her lap.

"G'night, Hermione," he said as he leaned over to give her a hug. He felt too uncomfortable to give her a kiss, even on the cheek, when her parents were nearby.

Crookshanks leapt from her lap, and scurried into the kitchen.

"You coming to the Burrow?" Ron asked Harry, shaking his head at the orange cat.

"No… I think I should go to 'Dromeda's. Maybe she'll want help with Teddy in the morning."

Ron nodded, "See you here tomorrow?"

Harry nodded. He wondered if maybe dawn would be too early to return to the Grangers.'

 _Probably,_ he mused flatly.

Ron said goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, then disapparated.

"Good night, Harry," Mr. Granger said.

"See you tomorrow," Mrs. Granger echoed. They both disappeared into the kitchen.

Hermione stood, and moved to give Harry a hug good-bye.

As he wrapped his arms around her, he breathed deeply. He noticed her embrace was gentler than usual, a side-effect of her current post-withdrawal state, so he pulled her toward him, resting the side of his jaw against her forehead.

They were so close, he could feel her tense momentarily, then relax. Without thinking, he kissed the top of her head, lightly. He wasn't sure if she noticed, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever done it before, but in that moment, he knew there were _a lot_ of things he'd never done before… things he _should_ have done… things he was sure he wasn't going to forget to do now.

In that moment, Harry was more than okay with all this newness, and, emboldened with his resolve, he was even starting to feel confident amidst the uncharted-ness of it all.

And even though the future was still so uncertain, even though he wasn't really sure what he wanted, he felt able to accept and appreciate the very fact that at least now he _had_ a future… and there was no possibility of him taking that for granted, taking his best friend for granted anymore.

Hermione stepped back, reluctantly. It had been so long since she'd felt this connected to anyone, to the world around her. Their eyes met without hesitation.

"Try to get some rest, Harry," Hermione breathed.

There was so much Harry wanted to say, to ask her, to tell her. He didn't want to go.

He took a step back as well, and, without breaking his gaze, disapparated.

/

Harry rubbed his eyes, seeing stars behind his lids, for perhaps the tenth time that night.

He knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep, but what else was he supposed to do in the middle of the night?

 _Start making toaster clocks?_ Harry wondered, recalling Mr. Weasley's sleepless nights. _Take up knitting?_

He knew he was starting to give himself a headache, tossing and turning in bed, continually rubbing at his eyes.

Unable to keep up his self-imposed farce any longer, he unceremoniously threw off his covers, and sat on the side of the bed.

 _Maybe I should read,_ Harry considered, wondering if that might help ease himself into sleep.

As he stood, Harry's soles were cold against the bare wooden floor, but he found it refreshing. He padded over to his desk, and began rummaging for a book… anything to occupy his mind, even to bore him to sleep.

He hoped Hermione was finding more rest than he was.

As Harry searched through his desk, he happened upon the photo album Dudley sent him. Although Harry hadn't forgotten about it, he certainly hadn't given it much thought recently.

When the album first arrived, Harry avoided it as one would avoid a blast-ended skrewt, but now that some time had passed, and after what had happened with Hermione, he suddenly felt more prepared to face what the album may contain.

As he moved to raise the cover of the album, Harry heard Teddy's cry echo from the room down the hall.

Harry knew he hadn't been much, if any, help with Teddy during the days of December, much less in the middle of the night, but he was back at Andromeda's now, and being resolutely awake anyway, he certainly wasn't going to avoid caring for his godson.

As Harry entered Teddy's room, the baby immediately stopped crying, curious as to the presence of this unexpected visitor.

"Hey, Teddy," Harry said quietly, hoping his cries hadn't woken Andromeda.

Teddy stared up at his godfather tearfully.

Harry still wasn't sure who Teddy looked more like, his mum or his dad, he was so young after all, but anyone could see the baby's eyes (when they weren't concealed by metamorphamagi power) were clear, and bright, and honest, even when full of tears. Harry liked to think Teddy inherited Lupin's eyes. Somehow, that thought connected Harry to his own parents.

"Have a bad dream?" Harry asked, reaching over the crib to hold his godson in his arms.

Harry made his way downstairs with Teddy, and gave him a bottle. He had gotten used to holding, cleaning, and feeding Teddy, but not much else. He hoped he could help comfort him, at least.

"It's okay, I have those too. They're not real…"

Harry found himself about to tell Teddy that his nightmares couldn't hurt him, but he knew that wasn't true. Nightmares could, and more often than not, did.

"It's going to be okay," Harry continued, Teddy now finished with his meal. Harry gently bounced Teddy, rubbing his back, as they made their way back upstairs. He walked circles around his godson's room, trying to help him fall asleep, "Did 'Dromeda tell you, Teddy, Hermione's awake? I bet you miss her."

Teddy was silent.

"We all missed her."

It was then Harry spotted _Hogwarts: A History_ resting on a table in Teddy's room, amongst other more age-appropriate books and toys.

 _Hermione must've left it,_ Harry thought, wondering if perhaps she had left it by mistake.

Realizing his godson was now sleeping peacefully, he gently placed Teddy back in his crib, and examined the book.

It did indeed appear to be Hermione's well-loved copy. A look at the small, tidy 'H.J.G.' inked on a corner of the inside cover confirmed Harry's suspicion.

He held the book to his chest.

He knew it was absurd, with it being so late, but he thought maybe he should bring the book to Hermione right away.

 _Maybe it will help her_ , Harry thought, not really fooling himself. He knew he was looking for any excuse to go back to the Grangers,' to check on his best friend.

 _If I'm quiet enough, I won't wake anyone._

Harry checked on his godson once again, before returning to his own room. Teddy looked content.

Harry glanced at the blue photo album, still unopened, on his desk, and with Hermione's book still clutched to his chest, he disapparated.

/

The hour hand on the face of the grandfather clock in the Grangers' sitting room pointed to three as Harry noiselessly appeared.

Again, he felt odd being awake in their home in the middle of the night. He hoped Mr. Granger didn't find him, as he had a few days ago.

 _I'll check on Hermione, drop off her book, and leave,_ Harry thought.

He crept up the stairs as soundlessly as he'd apparated, and saw Hermione's door open, a soft light flooding into the hallway.

He moved toward it, then stopped.

 _What am I doing?_ Harry realized in that moment just how odd it was to be traipsing around the Grangers' home at such an hour.

The light in the hall wavered for a moment, and Harry saw Crookshanks amble from Hermione's room. He began to weave between Harry's legs, purring loudly.

"Shh, Crookshanks…"

"Crookshanks?" Hermione whispered from her room, "Who's there?"

Harry heard Hermione's voice draw closer, and knew there was no leaving now.

"Hermione, it's me…" Harry whispered, moving toward her room.

They met at the doorframe, and Harry noticed Hermione clutched her wand tightly, at the ready. She was wrapped tightly in a dressing robe, and her scarf was around her neck.

"Oh, it's you, Harry…" she breathed, lowering her wand, and opened her door a bit more, "you scared me."

"Sorry, Hermione, I-"

Hermione raised her finger to her lips, and, wordlessly, with her hand on his arm, led him into her room. She softly closed the door behind her.

Crookshanks leapt onto her bed and mewed.

"It's alright, I just don't want to wake mum and dad," Hermione said, no longer whispering, but her voice still quiet.

Harry nodded.

"Cold?" Harry said, gesturing to her scarf.

Hermione nodded, and joked, "Never know when it could snow in here again."

"Har-har," Harry said sarcastically.

"Is that my book?" Hermione asked, noticing _Hogwarts: A History_.

"Yeah… it's why I came by, I figured you'd want it," Harry said, "I found it in Teddy's room."

Hermione accepted the book, and brought it to her chest, much the same way Harry had.

"At three in the morning?" Hermione questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, yeah… he was crying and I went to help him fall back to sleep."

Hermione smiled, and sat in one of the chairs at her bedside. Harry joined her in the other vacant chair.

"That's very sweet, Harry, but I meant why're you _here_ at three?"

"I… I couldn't sleep," said Harry plainly.

Crookshanks meandered over to the side of the bed, considering Hermione's lap, then Harry's, and Hermione's again. He finally settled on Hermione's. Hermione shifted the heavy book to the side to allow room for her pet.

"Well, that sounds familiar," Hermione smiled sadly, looking down at her lap, and began to stoke Crookshanks' fur, "but you could've stayed home. You don't need to check up on me."

Harry felt guilty. He didn't want Hermione thinking he thought she needed checking up on.

"But I wanted to," Harry said, and seeing Hermione frown, explained, "I wanted to _see_ you, and I couldn't sleep, and I figured maybe you'd be awake anyway."

"You might've waited until the morning… or daylight at least," Hermione grinned, looking up at him again.

"You know me, the pinnacle of patience," Harry shrugged, jokingly.

Hermione laughed, and shook her head, "Of course."

"Well, you know why _I_ can't sleep, but why can't you?" Hermione asked gently.

 _Because I couldn't stop thinking about you,_ Harry thought to himself. That answer would not do.

"Do I _really_ know why you can't sleep, Hermione?" Harry found himself asking gently, surprised at his boldness. He had the feeling there was still a lot Hermione hadn't told him, Ron and her parents.

Hermione gaped. She wasn't sure how to respond.

"I know it's more than nightmares, Hermione. I've had plenty of those… and I know you're stronger than that."

"I'm not… I'm not strong," Hermione whispered, looking away.

"Stop it. Of course you are, everything you've been through-"

"You're wrong. Look at me, Harry… I've done this to myself. I couldn't even keep it together, and what have I been through? Nothing. I've got my parents back, they're fine, and Ron… and you, and my closest friends. Everyone I love, still living… but not so for the Weasleys, and Andromeda… and Teddy."

Hermione's voice was urgent, but still quiet.

"Hermione, you can't-"

"Can't what? Compare? Of course I can, Harry!" Crookshanks leapt from his spot on her lap, and moved to Harry's instead.

"Think of everything _you_ have been through… year after year, and look, you're fine-"

"I'm _not_ fine," Harry said flatly, interrupting.

Hermione stared.

"I'm not fine," Harry repeated, "I'm _not_ okay that it took me so long to realize what a shoddy friend I've been to you all these years, so shoddy that I couldn't even be bothered to ask you what was wrong. I'm not okay that I still can't get to sleep, that I haven't been taking very good care of Teddy, that I can't even open a bloody photo album because I'm afraid a picture of Snape might be in it-"

Crookshanks grumbled, and moved from his place on Harry's lap, back to the bed, hoping he could get some peace and quiet there.

"Harry-"

But Harry continued, "I'm not fine, Hermione. In fact, the first time since I don't know when I felt more than fine was when you woke up- because… because then I knew at least I'd get the chance to be a better friend- to work toward something."

"Harry…" Hermione began, then stopped. She wasn't going to argue with Harry, she didn't want to. While she certainly didn't think Harry or Ron were bad friends, a part of her knew that they'd never taken the time to get to know her, not in the same way she'd gotten to know them.

She wondered for a moment how her relationship with Harry might be different now, hearing what he said. If it would really change.

She wanted to tell him that he was doing a great job with Teddy, but she had little to back up the sentiment, having been unconscious for the better part of a month. She wanted to ask about the photo album, but sensed now was not the time.

"You're right, Harry. It's not just the nightmares," Hermione started, unsure, "although that certainly started it all. It's- it's everything…" She paused, and then everything came tumbling out.

"I don't know what to do with myself, now that the war's over. I feel useless… aimless, and alone. I miss Hogwarts, having a purpose. What am I supposed to do now? Go and work for the Ministry? It feels wrong…"

Harry nodded silently. He felt much the same.

"And… and Ron," she began, unsure. "I'm just so confused. I don't know how I feel, or what I want. Oh please, Harry, don't say anything to him."

"Hermione, I- I wouldn't say anything." Although it felt strange to talk about Ron this way, he meant it.

"You must think I'm awful," Hermione said.

"I'd never think that," Harry replied honestly. He wasn't sure if there was anything Hermione could do to make him think poorly of her. "Ginny and I didn't work, and everything seemed to turn out okay with that."

"I just don't know, Harry…"

"Hermione, I… I don't know how to help you. I can't even help _myself_ with the same things… well, not the Ron thing," Harry made an attempt at a joke, "but the other stuff. I've been trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do now, too."

"Yeah, I suppose not having an evil wizard hunting you down frees up a lot of time," Hermione returned a joke, smirking grimly.

Harry laughed, and ran his hand through his hair, "Maybe we can help each other, now that you're getting better, and now that I've promised myself to stop being such a prat."

"Seems like a good a start as any, I suppose," Hermione said.

"We've always been pretty good at that," Harry reminded her, "helping each other. Well, you more than me, but I said I'm trying now."

" _Trying_ being the key word… I'm not sure if wandering around my house in the middle of the night is your best go at trying," Hermione laughed.

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed in mock hurt, tossing a pillow at her, "that hurts. I brought your book back. Plus, you're supposed to be my best friend or something."

"I'll take the 'or something,'" Hermione said, tossing the pillow right back. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you're here this late though."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused.

"Well… when I was in withdrawal… I wasn't fully unconscious, I don't think… not all the time, anyway. I think I remember you being here a lot late at night."

Harry nodded in amazement, wondering what else Hermione might remember.

"Yeah, me and Crookshanks," Harry said, reaching over to scratch the kneazle between the ears.

"I'm glad you've become reacquainted," Hermione smiled in satisfaction.

"Me too," Harry said, "and Hermione…"

Hermione looked at Harry with curiosity.

"I'm glad you're back. I really missed you."

Harry and Hermione talked until dawn, when sleep descended, and fatigue finally overtook them.


	10. Chapter 10 - The Wedding

/

/

The final days leading up to Christmas Eve were busy, to say the least, not only for Harry, as the preparations for George and Angelina's wedding and Christmas culminated.

Harry spent his days at the Burrow, and his nights at Andromeda's, always with his godson in tow.

Hermione and Ron also found themselves quite split between the Burrow and an additional location, Hermione with her parents, and Ron at the joke shop, trying to keep up with the wave of last-minute holiday shoppers.

Along with every Weasley staying in the house, including Percy, Charlie, Bill, and Fleur, Luna and Neville also stopped by the Burrow each day to assist where they could.

Needless to say, the Weasley household was a flurry of activity, comings and goings, and some really spectacular magic, the highlight of which was a grand invisible marquee in the Weasleys' garden, impervious to the elements, that took everyone present in order to cast, to serve as the setting for the ceremony and reception.

Hermione was glad for all the activity, as it served as a much needed distraction. Even though Mrs. Weasley, much to Hermione's dismay, insisted on containing her activities to those that did not require the use of her legs, narrowing her duties to favor-making, flower decorating, and placard writing, Hermione had no trouble keeping busy.

In fact, when Harry was otherwise engaged, Hermione willingly took most of the responsibility of looking after Teddy while at the Burrow. Hermione hadn't ever really looked after a child before, but she found herself truly enjoying it, learning more about his personality and metamorphamagi abilities, watching him grow and change with each passing day.

Plus, staying busy to the point of exhaustion kept her out of her own mind, and helped her get a bit more sleep.

Harry felt much the same, finding himself plummeting into bed at the end of each day.

Christmas Eve, the day of the wedding, dawned overcast, and still. A heavy snow had fallen overnight, blanketing the Burrow and the surrounding landscape in white.

Packing his dress robes into a bag, Harry peered out his foggy window, and watched as a small flake drifted haphazardly, as if a piece of paper dancing through the air.

Looking around his room, he considered what else he might need. He saw the unopened photo album still on his desk, and shoved in unceremoniously into his bag.

After packing up Teddy's things, and Teddy himself, Harry apparated them both to the Burrow.

Not seconds after arriving, Angelina greeted him cheerfully, wrapped in a fuzzy white dressing gown.

"Harry! Oh, it's so good to see you!" Angelina hugged him.

"Hi Angelina, yeah-"

"Is that Harry?!" Harry heard another female voice call, followed by the sound of multiple hurried footsteps hurtling down the stairs.

It was Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell, also dressed in similar fuzzy dressing gowns, though theirs were red. They hugged Harry quickly in greeting as well.

"And who is this handsome man?" Alicia cooed, taking Teddy from Harry's arms, which were still full of his and Teddy's things.

His three former Quidditch teammates then proceeded to act as if Harry no longer existed, directing all their attention on Teddy. Harry didn't mind.

Teddy's eyes were wide, and his hair began to change to match the color of Alicia's.

"Don't worry, Harry, they'll give him back… eventually," Ginny said, shuffling into the room and stifling a yawn. She was noticeably more disheveled than Angelina, Alicia, and Katie, but she was wearing the same fuzzy red robe.

Noticing Harry looking at the matching robes quizzically, she explained, "It's a bridesmaid thing, I guess."

"Oh, don't act like you don't love that robe," Katie Bell said, "you wasted no time putting it on when Angelina gave them to us this morning."

Ginny smirked, "Maybe."

"What, nothing for the men then?" Ron said with mock surprise, appearing with George by his side.

"I see no men here… oh, hey there Harry, I take that back," George joked.

Ron rolled his eyes.

"C'mon little brother, _being_ in our wedding is gift enough," George grinned, "although I still don't see why we need anyone but _us_ in our wedding," George directed his comment as his soon-to-be wife.

"Because it's _fun_. And here I was, thinking I was marrying _George_ Weasley, not _Percy_ Weasley," Angelina proclaimed, as everyone proceeded to laugh at George's expense, not that he was complaining.

He looked at Angelina not like she was the only one in the room, but the world.

"Breakfast, everyone!" Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen, interrupting the moment.

Everyone clamored into the kitchen, and Harry saw that Katie and Alicia had Teddy giggling. He reverted to his typical appearance, now comfortable with his companions.

"He's so cute!" Katie exclaimed.

"He's all right," Harry joked, helping himself to some eggs.

"Eat up you lot, busy day ahead!"

George and Angelina sat close to one another, sharing the same plate.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head, "I still don't understand why you two couldn't wait until _after_ the ceremony to see each other."

"We see each other every day!" Angelina informed.

"Yeah mum, you want me to give her the chance to run off… she's already talking about marrying Percy."

Angelina sputtered on a slice of bacon, and Mrs. Weasley scowled.

"Things are different now, mum," Ginny explained, laughing, "be happy we've all agreed to be in the wedding… even Percy."

This seemed to mollify her, and she was a flurry of activity again.

"Hermione coming later?" Harry asked over a bite of toast.

Ron nodded. "Yeah, with her parents."

Soon, the rest of the Weasleys joined them for breakfast, including Arthur, Percy, Charlie, Bill, and Fleur. It always surprised Harry how easily Mrs. Weasley was able to prepare enough food for such a large group.

Having finished his breakfast, and seeing that Teddy was still making the rounds from person to person at the table (he now rested in Fleur's arms), he and Ron retreated to his room to drop off his things.

On the way, they decided to get in a bit of Quidditch, before their absence was noted. Sneaking outdoors, brooms in hand, Harry asked Ron, "So you're in the wedding?"

Ron nodded, "Yeah, me, Bill, Charlie, Percy… Lee's best man," Ron chuckled, then turned somber.

"Would've been Fred, of course…"

Harry didn't know what to say. He figured there was nothing he, or anyone as a matter of fact, could say or do to ease the pain of Fred's absence, especially today.

Harry clapped Ron on the back and said, "Race you to Luna's."

This seemed to perk Ron up, and they were off, and back again in no time. As they neared the Burrow, they saw Ginny, Alicia, Katie, Angelina, and George joining them on brooms.

"Mum's going to kill you!" Ron called to George.

"Doubt it!" George called back, "Not after all the work she's done for this wedding."

"Oi!" A familiar voice called from below, and everyone looked down to see Lee Jordan racing to catch up, his hair bobbing wildly about his head, "Room for one more?!"

"'Bout time!" Ron called.

"Best man duties, y'know, had a speech to finish and all," Lee said as he rose to meet them mid-air.

"Good to see you, Harry, you our seeker today?"

"Same to you, Lee. Dunno, probably too rusty."

"Harry Potter, best seeker Hogwarts may have ever seen… rusty? Hold on… is that a _Firebolt X_ Ginny's got? Ohh Potter, forget what I just said," Lee said quickly, then raced to get a closer look at Ginny's broom.

"Let's start!" Ron called, trying to gain everyone's attention, which was now fixed on his sister.

"Patience, little brother, patience… what, you have a wedding or something to get to? First Percy, now my baby brother… that woman," George joked, and flew to examine his little sister's broom as well.

"How'd she get one of those?" Ron asked, looking to Harry.

"Uh…" Harry debated telling Ron, but figured Ginny's secret was out now, "She got drafted. She asked me not to tell, but it looks like she's telling everyone now," Harry explained, thinking that Ginny's letter seemed like two years, not less than two months, ago.

"Drafted?!" Ron exclaimed.

"Yeah, the Holyhead Harpies. I guess they have a contract with Randolph Spudmore-"

"The guy who invented the Firebolt!?"

"Yeah…" Harry said tentatively, knowing what he was about to tell Ron might knock him off his broom, "and Ginny told Spudmore about me, I guess, and he said he'd fit me with one… a Firebolt X."

"But, but… those are only for professionals- ah whatever, Harry, that's fantastic. You'll let me have a go, right? Although it probably won't work right because they're specially fitted-"

"I wrote him and asked if you and George could have your own too."

Ron was silent, visibly holding his breath.

"He wrote back, said absolutely not, only for the Chosen One," Harry grinned at his own pathetic joke.

Ron was immediately put out. Harry was unsure how how his friend could've taken him seriously.

"Ron, you dolt, 'course he said you and George could have your own too!"

Ron's joy was palpable, "That's fantastic! Merry Christmas to me! When do we go?"

Harry laughed, "Not sure, gotta figure that out."

"How about tomorrow?" Ron asked, in all seriousness.

Harry only grinned, shook his head, and flew off to join the others, Ron barely taking a breath in between sentences.

The group wasn't long into their scrimmage when Molly arrived, beckoning them with some very colorful language from the ground below.

"Honestly, George, I wonder if you even _want_ this wedding," Molly chastised as they made their way back toward the house.

"Now that you mention it, mum, I wanted to elope, but my dear Angie…"

"I wasn't going to let that happen!" Angelina informed.

"Well, thank Merlin you're marrying someone with more sense than you," Mrs. Weasley affirmed, beaming at Angelina.

"Doesn't take much, I'm afraid," Lee joked. George proceeded to swing at his best man with his broom.

The rest of the morning and early afternoon were spent in preparation. Mrs. Weasley had put Teddy down for a nap.

It wasn't long before Angelina's father and the Grangers arrived.

"Sorry we're a bit late," Hermione explained to Ron and Harry, placing wrapped Christmas gifts under the Weasleys' tree. She was dressed plainly, planning to get ready closer to the start of the ceremony.

Her parents were busy at work with Arthur and Angelina's father, outside in the invisible marquee, arranging ceremony programs and last minute decorations. A band and caterers were also busy at work.

"McGonagall came to my house. She… she offered me the position of Charms' professor," Hermione spoke as if she could not believe her own words.

Harry grinned. He'd forgotten that McGonagall mentioned she had a plan in store for his best friend. He never imagined it would be _this_ , but hearing it now, it made perfect sense.

 _Hermione will be an amazing professor_ , Harry thought.

"What about Professor Flitwick?" Ron asked.

"He wants to retire in the next few years," Hermione explained.

Ron nodded, "S'pose he could. It's hard to tell how old he is."

"He wants to do more traveling," Hermione continued.

"Blimey," Ron said in shock, "That'd probably make you the youngest professor ever."

Harry was reminded of Voldemort, who, as Tom Riddle, had been denied a teaching position, in part for being too young.

"Actually, in 1558, Professor Fortinbras began as assistantship during her seventh year-"

"Okay, okay, how about the youngest in living memory. Better?" Ron chuckled.

Hermione ignored him. "I'd just be starting an assistantship, anyway, with Professor Flitwick. He's not ready to retire just yet. Doesn't mean I'd get the job in the end, either."

Ron scoffed and Harry rolled his eyes, shaking his head.

"Of course you will!" Ron exclaimed.

Harry considered maybe Hermione didn't _want_ the job. He asked, "D'you want the job, Hermione?"

"Yes! At least I think so… I- I need to think it over."

"Ron!" The trio heard Lee Jordan call from upstairs. "Get your arse up here!"

Ron scowled, "Well, can we think it over later? I'm being summoned… bloody usher business. Harry, you should come too."

Suddenly, an explosion followed by raucous cheers emanated from upstairs.

Harry chuckled, "I think I'll pass for now…"

Even though he was reluctant to leave his friends, Ron made his way upstairs, suddenly more intrigued by his usher duties.

"We should get ready, too, Harry. I imagine guests will start to arrive soon."

"Right. But Hermione, I really think it's great… you being Charms' professor. I mean- you'll be great."

Hermione smiled, "Thanks. I can't believe McGonagall and Flitwick are even considering me… but I don't know if it's what I want. I mean, I've never had a job before. Most professors work for the Ministry first… get experience, you know?"

Harry considered Hermione's statement for a moment. Could the Ministry possibly provide experiences that were more preparatory than what they'd been through? Surely, he, Ron, and Hermione were not typical Hogwarts' graduates.

"Yeah, but, think of everything you've done and been through, Hermione. It's got to count for something. Plus, I'm sure you've thought about what you wanted to do after you graduated."

Hermione shrugged. "I did, a lot, before sixth year. But after that… I didn't really think about it anymore. I kind of figured-"

"We might not make it that far?" Harry finished.

Hermione nodded solemnly.

"Strange, huh?" Harry said. Hermione looked at him questioningly.

"We spent so much of our time at Hogwarts, and the last two years, just trying to make it through… but we never really let ourselves think about what we'd do _after_."

"I think you're right- I tried _not_ to think about it" Hermione ventured shyly, but then it all came pouring out. "It hurt too much to think that we might not make it, all the things we would miss out on."

Harry nodded, and understood he'd done the same.

"It's okay now though, to think about those things. To want things for yourself."

Hermione looked at him, impressed with his insight.

"I should say the same to you, Harry, it's okay to want things for your own future and happiness."

"We need to be better at taking our own advice," Harry laughed, "we're pretty rubbish at it."

Hermione laughed too, as the Weasley family clock struck three.

"I've really got to get ready," Hermione said, realizing the time.

"Meet you back here? I think we're on our own for the ceremony," Harry explained, knowing that both Ron and Ginny were in the wedding party.

Hermione smiled and nodded, "I can get Teddy ready," she offered.

/

On his way to Ron's room, Harry poked his head into George's. There, he found George, his brothers (excluding Bill), and Lee already in their dress robes.

Percy was sitting sourly on George's bed, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Lee Jordan was down on one knee, as if preparing to be knighted, while George held a particularly intricate funnel, the end of which was safely secured by Lee's mouth, while Charlie merrily poured perhaps the largest bottle of Butterbeer Harry had ever seen directly into the mouth of the funnel.

Ron was nearby, cheering his comrades on.

George caught sight of Harry, and called, "Oi, finally, Harry! Get in here, you're next!"

"After me, you mean!" Ron called. "C'mon, Harry!"

"Lemme get my robes!" Harry said, and everyone in the room booed, even Lee, who then proceeded to choke on the Butterbeer now spilling from his mouth.

As Harry hurried into Ron's room to change, he heard another explosion, this time followed by clearly female cheers. Harry smirked, hoping Hermione was also joining in on the fun.

Although George and Aneglina's wedding hadn't technically started yet, Harry mused how different Fleur and Bill's wedding had been.

 _Different time, I guess,_ Harry shrugged. It _had_ been a different time, before the war. After Bill and Fleur's wedding, Harry hadn't been too sure weddings were really his _thing_ , but he found himself starting to reconsider.

As he hastily reached for his robes, Harry stumbled upon the photo album Dudley sent him. He held it in his hands for a moment, then placed it on the bed.

 _Later_ , he thought.

By the time Ron chugged a Butterbeer of his own via funnel, Harry rejoined the others, and he could see, out the window, wedding guests steadily arriving.

"Nearly time, boys," Bill said as he entered the room, cracking open a Butterbeer of his own and clapping George on the back.

"Anyone keep tabs on Angie? Still in the building I hope," George joked, but Harry could see he was a bit nervous.

"Better be, she can't miss out on my speech later," Lee said, attempting to straighten his robes in the mirror.

"Yeah, sure… that'll keep her around… a speech," George said sarcastically.

"She'd be crazy to leave," Charlie ventured.

"Or really sane," Ron said, "but then she'd be all wrong for you." Ron's comment made everyone, especially George, laugh. He put his arm around his brother in a rare display of affection.

"You've got some competition, Lee," George informed.

"And after all that Butterbeer I chugged, this is the thanks I get."

"I think we should head down now," Percy said, finally smiling, and rising from his seat.

"Now or never," George said, and led them all downstairs.

Harry and Ron followed behind.

"Hermione said she'd meet me here," Harry explained as he slowed to a stop by the Weasleys' Christmas tree.

"Thank, Merlin, Harry, don't let her sit next to Aunt Muriel… or anyone who looks like they could be related to me."

Harry laughed, and watched Ron head outside to join the others. Harry could hear the muffled din of guests outside, beginning to find their seats. The sun was beginning to set, dark and orange on the horizon, and the snow was picking up again, casting a clear blue glow over the Weasleys' garden.

Moments after Ron left, Hermione joined Harry, as promised, with Teddy in her arms. Andromeda had picked out a black onesie with a faux bowtie for the baby boy. He matched Harry's black dress robes quite well, not that Harry noticed.

He was looking at Hermione, who wore a long, navy blue dress, with a moderately low neckline, and a subtle slit up one side of the dress' skirt. Her sleeves were long and lacy. Her hair was curled and swept to one side.

"You look great, Hermione," Harry said truthfully, offering her his arm. "Hey there, Teddy, sleep well?" Harry asked the boy, tickling his side.

Hermione smiled, "Thanks, Harry, you do too… but not as good as this one," Hermione said, gesturing to Teddy, and tickling him as well.

The little boy squealed in merriment.

"I'm just happy I can go as myself this time," Harry said, referring to Bill and Fleur's wedding, when he'd taken Polyjuice potion to disguise himself as Ron's cousin.

Hermione looked him over briefly and said, "Me too."

While the world around the invisible marquee was cold, blue, and growing dark and silent, inside was warm, bright, and buzzing with life. Nearly all the guests had arrived by then, and most had found their seats. Harry mused there seemed to be double the amount of guests, compared to Bill and Fleur's wedding.

The aisle down the center of the semi-circle of rows of translucent chairs was covered with white flower petals, as if snow. Tall arrangements, made of branches, white flowers, and frosted green and light brown dried reeds from the marshes around the Burrow, enchanted with warm, flickering white lights, stood at the head of the aisle, where George and Angelina would say their vows.

Similar arrangements were scattered about the marquee, and along the long, rectangular tables that would be used for the reception, giving the feeling of being in a wintry forest.

As Harry and Hermione stepped inside the marquee, Harry looked upwards, and saw tiny, floating white lights overhead highlight the gradual disappearance of the falling snow from outside, as each flake neared the ceiling perimeter.

He felt like he was in a snow globe.

"Harry," Hermione said as they entered the marquee, "My dress, it's green now."

Indeed, Hermione's dress had changed from navy blue to emerald green. Harry looked around the room and saw that all the men were wearing black, and all the women were wearing red or green.

"It's a charm," Hermione informed, also noting the homogenous attire of the other guests.

"Harry, Hermione, dears," Mrs. Weasley greeted them kindly, but hurriedly, "we're about to start, there are seats at the front there… don't worry about the petals on the aisle, they're enchanted not to move."

Harry and Hermione saw the only seats left vacant were a few in the second row, by the center of the aisle, where Mr. Weasley and Angelina's father were sitting. Harry spotted Andromeda there as well.

Harry also saw that George, Lee, Ron, Charlie, Bill, and Percy were lined up, standing at the front.

As Harry and Hermione made their way, still arm in arm, down the aisle, Teddy bundled to Hermione's side, Harry couldn't help but notice the glances, stares, and whispers from some of the guests as they passed.

Harry was thankful when he caught sight of Oliver Wood and Neville waving enthusiastically to them from their seats. Harry waved back.

"Is there something on my face?" Harry whispered to Hermione, wiping at his cheek.

"No…" Hermione whispered back, "I think some people are wondering about Teddy."

Harry didn't notice that Teddy's eyes had turned green, matching Harry's. His hair had also turned as dark as Harry's, but no one could see that, as the baby wore a knitted hat. The baby looked more like Teddy Potter, than Teddy Lupin. Apparently, Teddy was as uncomfortable with all the attention as Harry was.

"Oh…" Harry said, still not understanding, but he didn't have time to ask, as they took their seats. Hermione passed Teddy to a waiting Andromeda. Ron gave them a little wave from the front, which Hermione returned.

"Thank you," Andromeda whispered to Harry and Hermione, just as the music in the room changed, and Harry saw Katie Bell walking down the aisle, where he and Hermione had just walked themselves.

Katie was followed by Ginny, then Alicia, all wearing huge smiles, and long, black dresses. They held bouquets of white, and stood in a line at the front of the room.

The officiant then asked all the guests to rise, and Angelina appeared, in a fitted white dress, also carrying a bouquet of white. The warm lights in the room reflected off of the subtle, yet intricate, gold and silver lace woven into her gown.

As Angelina reached George at the head of the aisle, the couple were beaming. By the way they looked at each other, Harry figured they probably wouldn't even notice if all the guests happened to suddenly disappear.

The ceremony was short, but sweet, and Harry found himself able to pay more attention to George and Angelina's ceremony than to Bill and Fleur's. He really listened to the couple's vows, his mind clear of the worries of horcruxes, and Voldemort, and the war.

He heard Andromeda and Hermione sniffling on either side of him, and this time around, he began to understand why. Anyone could appreciate the specialness of George and Angelina's ceremony, a symbol of the hope that love still wrought, even after so much pain and loss.

He gently nudged Hermione and smiled at her brightly, a smile which she returned.

As the ceremony concluded with George and Angelina's kiss, every guest stood and cheered in honor of the newlyweds, to start off their new life together from a high point. The wedding party, including Ron, disappeared down the aisle, and George and Angelina, hand in hand, followed.

Guests began to leave their seats and disperse amongst the marquee when, suddenly, the band started playing an upbeat tune. George and Angelina immediately proceeded to an open, white dance floor, illuminated by floating lights, for their first dance as husband and wife. Somehow, Angelina's long dress had shortened, the hem now above her knees, allowing her to move more freely.

The ushers, including Ron, had mysteriously vanished, but Ginny, Alicia, and Katie were dancing themselves, beckoning guests onto the dance floor. Many guests joined in the fun, and Harry looked to Andromeda, his smile broad.

"Go ahead, Harry, I've got Teddy."

"C'mon, Hermione!" Harry said, leading his best friend toward the dance floor. He hadn't forgotten his promise to her, or the way he'd imagined dancing with her at this wedding, and if he were forced to admit it, he was quite caught up in the celebration- he _wanted_ to dance with Hermione.

Hermione followed a bit reluctantly, "But, what about Ron? Where did-"

"He'll find you!" They'd made it to the dance floor, and Harry put one arm around her waist, the other he used to hold her hand. Hermione put her free hand on his shoulder, and they began to dance simply, doing their best to keep up with the beat of the tune.

"But you don't like dancing!" Hermione said, laughing now. "Are you drunk?"

Harry laughed, "One Butterbeer and you're all suspicious of me, that hurts!" Harry retorted over the music. He certainly wasn't drunk, but he mused that the singular Butterbeer he'd enjoyed (he managed to avoid the funneling) with Ron and his friends hand't hurt.

One jovial song blended into the next.

"Remember this?" Harry said, and before Hermione could protest, he swept her into a spin, outwards, then back to him. Then, he placed both hands on her waist and lifted her gently off the floor. He knew how uncoordinated it must've looked, but he didn't care. He was having fun.

Her feet back on the ground, and holding onto Harry a little more tightly, and closely, Hermione laughed, "The Yule Ball dance? I'm surprised _you_ remember!"

"I have my moments," Harry grinned.

"Nice move there, Harry," Neville called, dancing with Luna beside them, "do I recognize that from the Yule Ball?"

"That's the one!" Ginny interjected, dancing with a man Harry didn't recognize. "Krum would be impressed… or very unimpressed, now that I think of it," she continued, looking pointedly at Hermione.

"Krum?" The unnamed man asked, "Viktor Krum?"

"I'll explain later," Ginny said to her partner, "I think there's about to be a show."

Without warning, the sky exploded into light- gold, and silver, and sparkling. The band erupted into Christmas music as the guests continued to dance and look on in wonderment.

"So that's where they got off to," Ginny said over the noise, "I saw Charlie's old room full of mysterious packages… it'll take the lot of them to set those off."

"I hope Ron comes back with his eyebrows," Hermione joked.

The rhythm of the music had slowed, but Harry noticed Hermione still clutching him quite closely.

"You okay?" He asked, looking down at her, taken by the reflection of the fireworks in her eyes.

She nodded, "I just feel a bit weak still… sorry," she looked away, and retreated from him a bit.

He wrapped his arm around her waist more firmly, drawing her back to him, "Don't be… I may be rubbish at dancing, but at least I know I won't let you fall."

"Remember you danced with me last year? In the forest? I thought you used up all your good moves then," Hermione joked, trying to change the subject.

"What? Like this one?" Harry asked, then displayed his most "choreographed" dance move.

Hermione played along, laughing.

Harry felt… free.

"Wotcher, Harry," Neville said as the final firework exploded into a downpour of gold and silver glitter that gleamed sublimely against the falling snow, "You're going to take her eye out."

The band's song faded into the chatter of the crowd, and the lead signer announced it was time for the guests to find their seats for dinner.

Harry was seated next to Hermione and Andromeda. A highchair was set up for Teddy next to his grandmother. Harry was happy to also be joined by Luna and her father, Neville, and Hermione's parents, who seemed quite giddy, champagne in hand.

As the first course was served, Ron, Lee, Bill, Charlie, and Percy entered the marquee to much applause. Harry whooped. Charlie led the way, appearing quiet burnt, as was his typical appearance, but Harry immediately saw the rest of the group shared similar looks.

Harry could've sworn the ends of Percy's hair were smoking.

Ron plopped himself next to Hermione, grinning. "That was amazing, wasn't it?!" He shouted.

Everyone in earshot winced. Harry laughed.

"Glad you made it back with your eyebrows," Harry joked, and shot a wink at Hermione.

"Not sure about my hearing, though," Ron said, again very loudly, rubbing his right ear.

"I can fix that!" Luna announced cheerfully, then tapped Ron's ears with her wand.

By the sudden look on Ron's face, he was taken aback by the sudden influx of sound.

He covered his ears and whispered, "Thanks, Luna."

"That was amazing, though, Ron," Mr. Granger said, "I'm not sure I've ever seen anything like it."

As everyone finished up their first course, the lead singer of the band handed a microphone over to Lee Jordan.

Harry could tell the former Hogwarts' Quidditch broadcaster was in his element. Harry laughed, thinking, _I wish McGonagall were here to see this._

"Good evening, good evening, ladies and gentlemen, if I do say so myself, what a _superior_ evening," Lee began.

"For those of you who don't know me, I'm- well hold on, for those of you who don't know me, please leave immediately. No, no… only joking… I'm Lee Jordan, George's best man."

"But I'm certainly not _the_ best man this evening, that would be George himself, and I've got to say, what a man he is- the most loyal, funny, and thoughtful friend a guy could ask for… at least that's what he told me to say."

George booed in jest, and all the guests laughed.

"The best thing about George, though, by far, is Angelina. She's funnier than her new husband here, and Merlin is she attractive, people, and, even though she _debatably_ prefers red hair and freckles to this gorgeous complexion and style of hair," Lee motioned to his own face and hair, "I hear she's wicked intelligent too…"

"And anyone can see George and Angelina are perfect for each other… they make each other laugh more than anyone else, even me."

"Here, here!" Someone called.

"But I would be remiss if I didn't mention how honored I am to be George's best man. Which I am. But I can't say I'm surprised, with my broadcasting skills being beyond reproach and all… Now, I'm not trying to dampen the mood here, but it wouldn't be fair of me _not_ to mention that I know I wasn't really George's first choice for best man… that would've been Fred."

The marquee was silent as Lee continued.

"Now I know some of you may think it's in bad taste for me to bring up my other best friend, Fred, who gave his life to make our world better, but then you must not have known Fred very well. He'd be _upset_ if we didn't talk about him at his twin brother's wedding. In fact, I bet Fred is cursing up a storm that he wasn't mentioned in those vows earlier… and that we didn't hang some kind of banner with his wonky face all over it, but, I hope I'm doing him proud. Let's all take a moment to raise a glass in memory of the _better_ looking Weasley twin, the best man of all, Fred Weasley."

All the guests joined Lee in his toast as he lifted his glass and cheered,"To Fred!"

"I hope you all enjoyed the finest of Weasleys' Wildfire Whiz-bangs earlier, put on by me and the boys, but I have one last gift for my best friends, the newlyweds…"

Lee gestured upwards, and the sky again erupted into sparkling light and sound, even more magnificent than the last set of fireworks, the most impressive of which was an explosion of gold, silver, red, and green stars that spread broadly, then downwards, slowly losing speed. Just as it seemed the stars would disappear, they rearranged themselves in the sky to read 'George & Angelina.'

The guests looked on in wonder and merriment, clapping and whooping.

"I helped him with these!" Ron shouted over the noise, "Was almost impossible to keep it a secret from George!"

"They're great!" Hermione said.

"Brilliant!" Harry agreed.

Harry tore his eyes away form the display, and saw George and Angelina hugging Lee simultaneously. Harry suddenly wondered how Lee must feel. Not only had he recently lost Fred, one of his best friends, now, in a way, he was losing his other best friends, George and Angelina.

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione, who were now sitting down to enjoy the main course that had magically appeared at every guest's seat.

 _I wonder if that will be me someday_ , Harry wondered, imagining himself in Lee's shoes. As much as the happiness of his two best friends brought him joy, imagining himself in Lee's shoes made Harry feel lonely and uncomfortable.

Harry contemplated what it would be like for him if his two best friends got married, and considered some of the recent moments he and Hermione had experienced together… leading her in a dance, talking until dawn, walking arm in arm. He wondered if he'd still be able to do those things, if she and Ron were married.

"All right, Harry?" Hermione asked in concern, nudging his elbow. He was unknowingly pushing food around his plate, not eating.

"Me?" Harry asked, his reverie broken, "Yeah, just not that hungry, I guess."

"Even after all that dancing?" Andromeda smirked.

"Is that what you call it?" Neville added.

Harry grinned, and popped a bite of food into his mouth, "Ron'll take over now."

"What'd I miss?" Ron asked.

"I've never seen a waltz like that before," Luna said, smiling.

"Harry and Hermione were dancing," Andromeda informed a bemused Ron.

"Oh, really, Harry?" Hermione joked. "I didn't know my dancing skills suddenly aren't good enough for you anymore."

Everyone at the table laughed.

"It seems Harry here paid _a lot_ more attention to McGonagall's dance lessons than we thought, Ron. That move he pulled earlier did him in," Neville added.

"What move?" Ron said, his eyes wide.

"You're so right Neville, I do have to retire now. There's no besting my spin and lift," Harry said in mock seriousness, ignoring Ron's question.

"That's too bad, Harry" Luna said from across the table, "I was hoping we could dance later."

Hermione looked at Harry and said, "That _is_ a shame…"

Even though Hermione said it sarcastically, she _did_ feel it would be a great loss if she never got to dance with her best friend again, tonight, or at any future event that called for dancing.

As it turned out, Harry's dancing days were _not_ behind him, as he offered Luna his arm once the plates were cleared. Hermione and Ron joined them on the dance floor.

After his dance with Luna, which had been wholly more eclectic than his dance with Hermione, Harry went in search of a Butterbeer.

En route, he was delayed by Ginny and the man she'd danced with earlier, who Harry quickly discovered was none other than Randolph Spudmore.

"It's great to finally meet you, Mr. Potter! Can I call you Harry? Ginny here tells me it's all right," as Spudmore shook Harry's hand with exuberance, his words tumbled out of his mouth faster than one of his Firebolts soared through the air.

When Ginny had written to him, explaining who Spudmore was, Harry envisioned a much older man. With his straight yet ruffled sandy hair and energetic limbering frame, it was clear Randolph Spudmore was no older than twenty-two.

"Er- yeah, just Harry. Great to meet you too, thanks for offering those custom brooms-"

"Thank _me_? I should be thanking you! What, for everything you've done for the wizarding world… this is the least I can do. Plus, full disclosure, Harry, it'll be great if the 'X' gets your approval and the public gets wind of it!"

"Slow down there, Spud," Ginny said as she hastily plucked three Butterbeers from a passing tray, offering one to Spudmore and Harry each, reserving the third for herself, "you're going to scare Harry away."

Spudmore laughed and wrapped his arm around Ginny's shoulders, "Didn't scare _you_ away, did I?"

Harry raised his eyebrow and did everything in his power not to sputter on his drink. Ginny grinned forcefully, then shot daggers Harry's way.

"I'm sure it's going to be great Spudmo-"

"Randy, call me Randy."

"Randy. I doubt your brooms need _my_ approval anyway."

"Couldn't hurt, Harry! Everyone knows you're a great seeker, and any team in the UK, any team in the Confederation actually, would love to get their hands on you… any interest in playing professionally?" Spudmore responded, in one breath.

Harry had certainly considered trying out professionally, but the thought of continuing to live his life in the spotlight was very, very unpleasant. His conversation with Spudmore, although the man was generally well-intentioned, reminded Harry of that.

"No… Harry was too afraid he'd have to face off against me," Ginny joked.

"No blame there, Harry, Ginny's really something special on the pitch," Spudmore grinned broadly at Ginny, and she blushed.

Harry held up his hands in mock defeat, "Got me there."

"So when can I expect you at my shop?" Spudmore asked enthusiastically.

"What shop?" Neville interjected unexpectedly, joining the conversation. He unceremoniously plucked the Butterbeer from Ginny's hand as she attempted to bring it to her lips.

She scowled at her friend playfully, and he took a swig, smiling. Harry chuckled at the exchange.

"Finally got that Butterbeer, eh Neville?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, no thanks to you," Neville joked.

Ginny plucked the bottle back from Neville and took a sip herself, "No thanks to me either, thank you very much."

"So when will you and your friends be coming by my shop Harry? Soon, I hope?" Spudmore continued, as if he hadn't noticed Harry, Ginny, and Neville's exchange.

Ginny rolled her eyes and turned to Neville. "Let's go," she commanded, taking his arm and leading him to the dance floor.

Spudmore didn't bat an eye, as he continued to exuberantly attend to Harry.

"Uh… soon," Harry said, unsure. He hadn't really thought about when he might take up Spudmore's offer until earlier that day.

"Soon I hope," Spudmore repeated, rubbing his hands together, "so many new toys in production, not just the 'X,' would love to get your input on them… your friends, too. I hear you keep the company of a pretty talented crew, if Gin is any indication."

Harry was amazed at the man's lung capacity.

Harry nodded, thinking of Hermione. Even though the extent of his best friend's interest in brooms and Quidditch was that of a last ditch means of travel and spectating her friends' matches, he figured Hermione's knowledge of charms, and magic in general, could no doubt be useful to Spudmore.

"I'll bring them along. Maybe January?" Harry offered.

This seemed to appease Spudmore, as he smiled broadly and clapped Harry on the back. "January it is, Harry! Perfect! Send an owl when you know the date… now, where did _my_ date run off to?"

Spudmore scanned the room, and saw Ginny dancing with Neville. "Best go tend to that, eh Harry? That Weasley's a quick one, no doubt."

Before Harry had a chance to respond, Randolph Spudmore was bounding onto the dance floor, animatedly interposing himself between Ginny and Neville. Harry laughed, watching his friends making it purposefully difficult for Spudmore.

Andromeda passed by Harry then, and he plucked his godson from her arms.

"My dance partner!" She exclaimed.

"Mine now!" Harry said, and joined his friends back on the dance floor, bouncing Teddy to the music.

The evening continued in much the same way, with dancing, food, and general merriment. Harry found himself without a shortage of pressing conversation or dance partners, speaking at length with Oliver Wood, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnigan, and dancing with Mrs. Weasley, Andromeda, Luna again, Katie and Alicia (they came as a pair), and Teddy. He didn't get another chance to dance with Hermione, who seemed rather monopolized by Ron.

It was very late by the time Andromeda found Harry to let him know she was heading home, and bringing Teddy with her.

Harry looked around, and saw that, although his friends continued to dance (and drink) with vigor, many of the guests had already left. As much fun as he was having, in truth, Harry had been looking for a means of respite for a while.

"Let me come with you," Harry offered, "I'll put Teddy to bed, and then I'll come back."

"Don't be silly, Harry, you stay with your friends," Andromeda said, stifling a yawn.

"I want to," Harry said truthfully, "it's his first Christmas."

Andromeda smiled gently, and after saying her goodbyes to Molly, Arthur, and the newlyweds, she apparated home with Harry and Teddy.

After Harry settled Teddy into bed at Andromeda's, he apparated back to Burrow, intent on changing out of his dress robes.

As he turned to enter the room he shared with Ron at the Burrow, Harry saw Fleur, whose dress had been charmed green this evening, sitting on his bed, looking through the photo album Dudley had sent him.

The emerald green of her dress contrasted sharply, but beautifully, with her white-blond hair. She looked like she could be Draco Malfoy's sister, or a member of Slytherin House, at any rate.

She noticed Harry in the doorway with a start.

"Oh! 'Arry, I am so sorry!" As Fleur jumped up, she clutched her abdomen with one hand, and the album fell to the floor.

Fleur's accent had not changed much over the years, even though she'd been living in England for quite some time.

"Oh…" she said again, suddenly turning pale. Sitting gingerly back on the bed, she lowered herself slowly, eyes closed, and brought her free hand up to her forehead.

Harry rushed to her side.

"Are you okay? Let me go get Bill-" Harry urged, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

She silently shook her head no. Harry noted she kept the palm of her right hand over her abdomen.

"Are you ill?" Harry asked softly.

She smiled, "I was… but it seems to come and go quickly. The dizziness, too. You see, Harry…" she paused.

"I am pregnant."

Harry stood, stunned, and suddenly felt horribly shy.

She opened her eyes, and seeing Harry's expression, she smiled.

"You are not happy for Bill and I?"

Fleur's words broke through Harry's stupor, "No- I mean yes! Congratulations!" Harry smiled earnestly, and gently sat next to her on the bed.

"I didn't know," he continued.

"Only Bill and Gabrielle know, at least right now… it is still early, you see. And we did not wish to take away from George and Angelina's happiness."

Harry nodded, thinking that was incredibly considerate of Fleur.

Harry wondered how it must feel to know you would be bringing a new life into the world, to know that you would soon be a parent.

"It has been wonderful, so far," Fleur said, as if reading his thoughts, "but for my sickness, and fatigue. That is why I came up here, to be alone, to get a bit of rest."

"Oh… is there anything I can do?"

"That is very sweet of you, but no. Just promise you will keep our secret?" Fleur entreated.

"Of course!" Harry said, perhaps too eagerly.

Fleur laughed, "War has not changed you too much, I see, not the parts that matter."

"I hope not," Harry joked.

"I am sorry I looked through your album, that was very… how you say, nosy, of me."

'It's all right," Harry said truthfully, "I haven't even looked inside yet."

"Why not? There are some lovely photos inside… your mother, in some, if I am not mistaken." Even though Fleur had never seen a photo of Harry's parents before, anyone would recognize the likeness between Harry and Lily's eyes.

"I- I can't. I keeping thinking about it, over and over, but I can't."

Harry sighed, and looked to the floor.

Fleur lightly touched his arm and sighed as well.

"The past… it used to frighten me too, you see. Always nightmares of the Dark Lake, and the maze… and Cedric…"

"After what happened to Bill, I said, no more. Non. I would not let the past frighten me again, because I learned, Harry, the past only has power over us if we ignore it."

He watched Fleur's feet as she stood, then slowly leaned over to pick the album up off the floor. She placed it in his lap.

Harry hadn't looked up yet, so he didn't notice Hermione now standing silently in the doorway.

"But we cannot go forward alone, Bill says."

"He's right," Hermione said softly, startling Harry.

"I was just leaving," Fleur said, gesturing for Hermione to sit where she had been, "I know Bill must miss me."

As Hermione sat next to Harry on the bed, Fleur smiled kindly at the pair. Fleur knew she had changed over the years, had grown more empathetic, more thoughtful, but she continued to pride herself on her unwavering, impeccable taste.

The sight of Harry in his dark robes, his hair disheveled, as usual, but handsomely so, next to Hermione, in a fitted dress the color of Harry's eyes, her long hair curled and swept to one side, pleased Fleur greatly.

"And speaking of the past… you two brought tears to my eyes tonight… you remembered the Triwizard dance… how fun, how young we all were then."

Harry blushed, and Hermione beamed.

Fleur nearly gave some advice to the pair, who she knew had unknowingly and unintendedly drawn the attention of many wedding guests, and likely some jealousy, that evening; however, she thought better of it.

Although it was certain to her that Harry and Hermione _looked_ to be the perfect couple, it was not her place to comment, particularly as she recalled Bill mentioning something between Hermione and his youngest brother.

 _They_ _are still young in the ways of the heart_ , Fleur thought.

Fleur gracefully turned on her heel to exit the room, but stopped midway and said, "And remember, 'Arry, shhh," Fleur put a finger to her lips before she glided out of sight.

Hermione looked at Harry questioningly.

"You'll find out soon enough, I think," Harry informed, smiling.

"You okay?" Harry asked, wondering why Hermione was inside the house.

Hermione hesitated, then said, "I had to sneak away from Ron, he hasn't let me out of his sight. I'm exhausted."

Harry smirked, "He trying to make up for missed dances?"

"Merlin knows," Hermione said, blowing a piece of stray hair out of her eyes. She placed her hand on the photo album.

"What's this?"

 _Now's a good a time as any,_ Harry thought.

"It's a photo album my cousin Dudley sent me."

"Dudley?" Hermione said in surprise.

"Yeah… he sent it a few months ago, with an apology letter. He said my aunt left the album behind… it's from when she was a kid."

"Oh…" Hermione breathed, understanding Harry's hesitation.

"We don't have to look through it."

"I know," Harry said, "but I think it's time."

Harry lifted the cover, and began to slowly flip through the pages. Noting his aunt's name printed inside the front cover, there was no doubt that this was Petunia's photo album, and based on the messy, handwritten labels of 'Me' beneath many of the photos, it was an album she'd started as a child.

The photo album was organized chronologically, and as Harry turned the pages, he and Hermione observed a homely-looking baby transform into a homely, twiggy-looking child. There were some photos of adults Harry assumed were his grandparents, or great-grandparents. There were also photos of a young Petunia with other children Harry didn't recognize. Some were labelled with names like 'Sally' and 'Susan.'

"Her friends, probably," Hermione offered.

But what interested Harry and Hermione most were the photos of his mother, Lily, before she was Lily Potter, and, judging by how young she appeared in the photos, before anyone knew Lily was a witch.

Looking at a picture of his mum, beaming brightly, standing with her sister and her parents, made Harry smile. There was a time when his mother and her sister got along.

Hermione gently touched a darker, empty spot on the page, where it was clear a photo used to be. As Harry turned the pages, the number of these empty spaces increased, and the number of photographs with Lily decreased sharply.

"Petunia must've removed a lot of the photos," Hermione said quietly.

After turning a page filled with pictures of a teenaged Petunia and the girl named 'Sally,' Harry and Hermione came upon a page with only one photo.

The page was clearly damaged. It was covered in haphazard red and black marks, and the edges were wrinkled and torn. The corners of the page looked singed by flame. The page contained no labels. Rather, in handwriting that in no way matched the handwriting in the rest of the album, the photo itself was labeled with three names, 'Lily,' 'Severus,' and 'Muggle.'

Among Petunia's other photographs, this photo was as unusual as the page it made its home. The people in the image moved. It was a magical photograph.

"Harry…" Hermione breathed, "…is that-"

"Snape? Yeah, it is."

In the photograph, Lily, Petunia, and Severus Snape were no older than fifteen or sixteen. Severus and Lily stood side by side, smiling and laughing, an arm wrapped around the other's shoulders. Petunia stood quite separately, glaring at Snape, arms crossed tightly over her chest.

"He and my mum grew up in the same town… they were friends. Best friends, I think. Snape and my aunt hated each other."

Watching the image of Petunia attempt to scratch out Severus' name from the photograph, anyone could see that. Seeing Lily and Severus continue to laugh and joke, it was just as clear to Hermione, if not more so, that the two were close friends.

The image reminded Harry of the photograph he'd seen of himself, Ron, and Hermione on Hermione's desk. He shivered.

Harry touched the singed edges of the page with his fingertips and smirked, "Looks like Petunia tried to get rid of this page."

"Definitely. She wasn't very successful… How long have you known, about Snape and your mum?" Hermione asked.

"After Snape died…"

"His memories," Hermione finished, needing no further explanation.

Harry turned the page, but the rest of the album was blank. He closed the book, and looked up at Hermione. He appreciated the quiet, and he remembered a similar quiet he'd shared with his best friend, standing in a snowy graveyard in Godric's Hollow, one year ago.

"Will you go somewhere with me?" Harry asked.

Hermione nodded, "Of course."

He took her hand in his, and they disapparated.

/

/

"Harry, where- where are we?"

For a moment, Harry considered maybe he apparated them to the wrong location.

As his eyes adjusted in the dim light, revealing the muddied outline of identical rows of narrow, brick homes, overshadowed by the looming presence of a towering, dysfunctional industrial chimney, he knew he'd apparated exactly where he'd intended.

As Harry stepped forward to walk down the snow-dusted lane, Hermione squeezed his hand and gave him a look, still searching for an answer. A bleary street sign overhead read _Spinner's End_.

"Cokeworth," he replied, offering no other explanation.

Hermione only nodded, trusting Harry.

Although the lane was coated with a thin layer of freshly-fallen snow, it did little to mask the wear and grime of the gnarled bricks and cobblestones underfoot, of the monotonous gray-brown facade of the grim buildings.

A gust of wind encircled Harry and Hermione in a cloud of snow, and, without word, Harry draped his robes over Hermione's shoulders.

"Thanks," she whispered, then cast a warming spell over them both. She didn't remove his robes from her shoulders, though.

By the amount of snowflakes covering his black robes, Harry could see the snowfall was picking up, and he was glad for it.

 _The less I see of this place,_ Harry thought, _the better._

Harry led them down the gradually sloping lane. It was silent in Cokeworth, but for the call of the wind and the distant barking of a dog.

As the ground leveled, the lane gave way to an icy, sullen riverbank. The river itself was narrow, nearly frozen over, lined with gnarled shrubs and underbrush that, covered in snow, looked like stone.

Harry and Hermione followed the riverbank slowly until they came to the twisted, black trunk of a willow tree. The tree was old, towering over the riverbank, the tips of its farthest branches skimming the other side of the river.

Harry and Hermione took shelter beneath the arched canopy of frost.

"I think my mum and Snape used to play here, I saw it in his memories," Harry said quietly, his breath rising in puffs of white.

Even though her spell had not faltered, Hermione pulled Harry's robe around her more tightly.

"They were friends… and Snape, he- he loved my mum. They got into an argument, and stopped being friends at Hogwarts, but he never stopped loving her. He hated my dad, but he still tried to protect her… and when he failed, he tried- no he _did_ , he protected me."

Hermione's mind was racing, remembering all of their interactions with Snape during their time at Hogwarts, especially Harry's interactions with the potions master, how confused their professor's behavior had often left her. She remembered the way Snape had looked into Harry's eyes as he lay dying.

 _Dumbledore always trusted Snape,_ Hermione thought, now understanding why that trust was valid.

"I was so cruel to him," Harry said, kicking at a bit of ice by the water's edge.

"You didn't know, none of us knew. And he was never exactly… _kind_ to you. I don't think he would blame you, Harry."

Hermione was right, of course, and Harry acknowledged that.

Looking down at the icy black water reminded Harry of the night Snape used his patronus to lead Harry to the sword of Gryffindor.

Harry exhaled, closing his eyes. He allowed his mind to empty, then fill with a memory, the very recent memory of Hermione waking from her withdrawal.

"Expecto patronum," Harry said firmly, but quietly.

Harry opened his eyes to the glowing blue light of his stag. Hermione watched the stag graze at the edge of the river, its blue light emanating all around them, under the frozen willow tree.

She idly wondered if her patronus was the same. It had been so long since she'd casted it.

"Snape's patronus was a doe, like my mum's. He used it to help lead me to the sword of Gryffindor, to destroy the locket."

Harry stared at his patronus, "And when he gave me his memories… he explained everything he'd done and why, and helped me see what I had to do, to defeat Voldemort. Hermione, he…"

Hermione stepped closer to Harry, and placed her hand on his arm.

Harry met her gaze, "…he helped me accept death. Seeing what he'd lost and sacrificed, it helped me make my own sacrifice."

Tears slowly fell from Harry's eyes, freezing as they made contact with the ground.

Harry and Hermione embraced, and he buried his face in her shoulder. It was the first time he'd really processed his thoughts and feelings surrounding Snape's actions and memories, the implications of it all, the first time he'd allowed himself to grieve for the man he'd misunderstood.

"I think he'd be glad, Harry, that you lived, that he was able to protect you, Lily's son, in the end."

Harry wiped his eyes and nodded. His stag hadn't faded yet; it nuzzled its nose against his side. Harry felt its comforting warmth.

Hermione knelt by the base of the willow tree, and in much the same way she'd conjured a wreath for his parents' grave last Christmas Eve, a full bouquet of white lilies appeared, pure and glowing, propped against the dark trunk.

Harry's patronus followed Hermione and knelt beside her, sniffling lightly at the flowers before fading into the night.

Somewhere, a clock tolled midnight. It was Christmas.

"Let's go, Hermione."

/

/

When Harry and Hermione arrived back outside the invisible wedding marquee at the Burrow, they saw a few people remained inside, talking in hushed tones at nearly empty tables, or dancing slowly to the band that continued to play.

George and Angelina, Bill and Fleur, Lee and Alicia, and a couple Harry didn't recognize were revolving on the dance floor. Charlie, Neville, Oliver, Ginny, Luna, and Katie chatted at a table littered with empty Butterbeer bottles. Ron was nowhere in sight.

"One more dance?" Harry asked Hermione, offering her his hand as they entered the marquee.

Hermione smiled, "Sure, but only because it's a slow one."

As Harry put his hand on Hermione's waist, the song changed. It was slow, and halting, and beautiful.

"This is our last song tonight, folks. Merry Christmas to all, and congratulations again to George and Angelina," the singer of the band announced smoothly.

Harry and Hermione danced in silence for a short while, leaving Cokeworth behind them for now, before Hermione asked, "So what did you think of the wedding?"

"Brilliant," Harry replied, "you?"

"Beautiful… although I'm not sure if green's my color," Hermione said, looking down at her dress.

"I think it looks just right on you," Harry said honestly.

There was a brief pause in conversation before Harry asked quietly, "So we agree these wedding things are pretty great… d'you think- d'you think you want to get married some day?"

It was not a question he ever imagined himself asking anyone, let alone Hermione, but he found himself wanting to know what Hermione thought.

"Yeah… yeah, I may not know much about what I want for my future, but I think I would… to be married some day," Hermione smiled, "why… are you asking me?"

"Not sure how that would go over with Ron," Harry smiled back, "or your parents. Not that I would ever ask you like _this_ anyway."

"Oh, so you've given this some thought? Harry, this is so sudden," Hermione teased.

 _Why is my heart racing?_ Hermione wondered.

"I may be pretty daft sometimes, Hermione, but if- if I'm going to ask someone to be stuck with me forever, I know I better figure out some way to really sell it, y'know? Not much to offer here, really," Harry continued the ruse.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You have a lot to offer, Harry, more than anyone I know."

"You have to say that, you're my best friend."

"That's exactly why I _don't_ have to say that," Hermione said.

Harry conceded with a gesture of his head, "Suppose so. Thanks for the confidence boost, though, not that a wedding is anywhere in my near future."

"Good," Hermione said in mock firmness, "I'm not ready for that."

As they continued to dance, they both found themselves wondering not what it would be like if they dated, but what it might be like if they were married, if they promised to stand by each other forever.

Harry realized his heart was racing. _What's going on?_

"This song sounds familiar," he said, trying to gain control over his mind and emotions.

Hermione listened intently.

"You're right, but I can't place it."

Harry and Hermione didn't realize, but the song the band played was the same one they'd danced to last year, alone in a tent in the forest, sometime after Ron had left.

"You should ask Lee," Neville said, appearing beside them, dancing with Ginny, "his request."

"Spud's gone?" Harry asked.

"A while ago, had work to do, he said," Ginny shrugged, "he loves his work, that much is for sure."

"Where've you two been?" Neville asked, just as Bill and Fleur glided toward them. Over Hermione's shoulder, Harry saw Ron enter the marquee.

"'Arry, 'Ermione," Fleur said loudly and abruptly, "Did Teddy get to sleep all right? I told Hermione's parents that two sets of hands were needed tonight." Harry saw that she glanced quickly at Ron.

Hermione looked at Harry quizzically, but he recognized that Fleur was covering for their disappearance. They'd been gone over an hour.

"It took a while," Harry responded, also louder than necessary, seeing his best friend watching, and listening, intently, "I'm glad Hermione helped me."

Harry saw realization dawn on Hermione's face, and, ensuring no one but Harry and Fleur could see, Hermione mouthed 'Thank you' to Fleur. Harry saw Fleur wink in response.

Harry made a mental note to thank Fleur more fully later. Her quick thinking certainly saved him from more than one uncomfortable situation tonight.

No sooner had the song ended when Ron was at their side.

"You should've told me you were going to Andromeda's," Ron said to Harry and Hermione, not unkindly, as they stepped apart, "I could've helped, too."

"Sorry, Ron, Teddy was being a handful," Harry replied.

Harry considered how easy it was for him to lie to Ron in this moment, and was surprised at his lack of guilt.

Harry couldn't help but think again that there were now some things, things he could only share with Hermione.

"Yeah, we almost had to call for backup," Hermione smiled. Apparently, the same held true for her.

"Oh, and Ron, happy Christmas," Harry said sincerely.

He was happy he'd be able to spend this Christmas with Ron and the Weasleys, as they'd done for so many years before the war, but, as he pictured Hermione's bouquet of lilies in his mind, Harry was even more appreciative of tonight, of a night he made her smile, of an unspoken weight now lifted from his shoulders, of a slow dance to a forgotten song, of an hour or two he'd spent alone in her company.

/


	11. Chapter 11 - The Man Who Lives

A/N: Happy New Year! I feel like I may go back and edit a few little things from the previous chapter at some point, but nothing major. Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy!

/

/

Even though Harry was one of the last of the few lingering wedding guests to get to sleep, he was one of the first to rise on Christmas morning.

As he woke, the crushing weight of the loneliness and despair of his dream transformed into the roar of Ron's snoring.

Harry'd been dreaming, and not well- he had a dream where he, not George, had been a groom, and dressed as such, he waited at the end of a seemingly endless aisle, his loved ones eagerly looking on. No bride ever arrived, though. Harry recalled Aunt Muriel's disapproving head shake with a grimace.

Remembering it was Christmas, Harry shook the dream from his mind and hastily dressed. He saw that it was raining steadily outside, washing away the pristine coat of white from the night before.

Harry closed his eyes tiredly and imagined Hermione's bouquet of lilies by the willow tree in Cokeworth; he was sure Hermione's charm were keeping the flowers white and untouched by the rain.

As Harry made his way to the Burrow's kitchen, he saw Luna, Neville, and Ginny asleep in the living room.

Luna was curled up like a cat by the hearth, nestled in the center of an uncountable amount of blankets and throw pillows. Ginny and Neville were sound asleep on the sofa; Neville sitting up, with his head tilted back, snoring softly up toward the ceiling. It seemed Ginny had managed to snag a lone pillow from Luna, as she now slept on her side, with her head atop said pillow on Neville's lap.

The trio seemed quite content, and Harry figured they'd been up late, talking perhaps. He sometimes forgot how close Neville, Luna, and Ginny had become over the years.

Harry smiled, amusing himself by wondering what Spudmore might do if he saw the sight of Neville and Ginny together as they were on the couch.

 _Probably'd just try to talk to me about the X,_ Harry admitted dryly to himself. He considered what Ginny saw in Spudmore, to ask him as her date.

 _Maybe I need to get to know him better_ , Harry mused. _Will soon enough_ , he resigned, remembering he'd promised he would go by Spudmore's shop soon.

As Harry entered the kitchen, he saw Mr. Weasley preparing breakfast. Percy and Fleur were also awake, sitting at the kitchen table. Percy had his nose buried deep within a book, and Fleur was slowly sipping some herbal-smelling tea.

"Happy Christmas," Harry said in greeting.

Arthur turned from the stove, a sizzling pan of sausages in his hand, and smiled, "Happy Christmas, Harry! Grab yourself a plate."

"Happy Christmas, 'Arry," Fleur said, standing to hug him.

"Happy Christmas, Harry," Percy mimicked, "Surprised to see you up early… even mum's still sleeping."

Harry nodded, agreeing it was odd Mrs. Weasley was not awake. She was typically the first one up. He helped himself to some breakfast and a comically large cup of coffee.

Arthur explained, "It won't surprise me if Molly'll be sleeping for a week or two straight, after all the preparations."

The four shared knowing looks and smiled.

"I hope you slept well, Harry, we were up so late…," Fleur said.

Their breakfast was suddenly interrupted by a tap at the window.

"That'll be the _Prophet_ ," Percy said as he received the owl. Indeed, the _Daily Prophet_ was rolled up and attached to the bird's leg.

Not much interested in the _Daily Prophet_ , Harry continued to occupy himself with his breakfast.

"I'm looking forward to reading the Minister's Christmas address," Percy announced, unfurling the thick paper.

Harry looked up, intrigued. He had nothing but respect and admiration for Kingsley, thinking maybe he would peruse the paper after all, but it was not the face of the Prime Minister he saw staring back a him, it was his own.

His stomach dropped.

Percy noticed Harry's sudden change of expression, and quickly shuffled the paper around in his hands. His eyes went wide. Fleur leaned close to Percy, and, catching a glimpse of the cover, her eyes widened as well.

"Oh… oh, uh, nothing but rubbish, the _Prophet_ … nothing from the Minister…" Percy moved to dump the paper in the garbage.

Fleur only shook her head in silent disapproval and continued to sip on her tea.

Not having seen Harry's face on the front page, Mr. Weasley intercepted the publication from Percy, "What d'you mean, Percy? Let me at least see- oh… quite right, Percy, rubbish this Christmas," Arthur glimpsed the front page, looked up nervously at Harry, then proceeded to move to trash the paper.

"That's all well and good of you both, I really appreciate it… but I saw," Harry said flatly, already resigned to the absurdity he knew the paper had likely published about him.

The _Prophet_ had been rather tame since the end of the war, especially where The Boy Who Lived was concerned. Harry figured being open with the press back in August had garnered him some kind of grace period.

 _Either that, or Kingsley was involved,_ Harry considered. Harry also knew that Kingsley was not the type of Minister to impede free speech. _Power of suggestion?_ Harry considered thoughtfully, imagining the power Kingsley's _suggestions_ may hold.

Apparently, Harry's relative immunity to the quill of Rita Skeeter, and likely to the general wizarding media at large, had ended. This was quite clear to Harry as Arthur slowly, and very reluctantly, placed the _Prophet_ in Harry's waiting hands. Harry again saw his own visage looking back up at him.

 _A HAPPY CHRISTMAS INDEED_ :

 _THE BOY WHO LIVED IS NO MORE!_

 _WELCOME THE_ MAN _WHO_ LIVES

Underneath the decidedly absurd title sprawled across the cover of the _Prophet_ , Harry saw a picture of not only his own face, but Teddy's and Hermione's too. The picture was from yesterday, when he, Teddy, and Hermione had walked down the aisle of the marquee to find their seats before George and Angelina's ceremony.

Some part of Harry's mind registered that it _was_ a lovely picture of the three of them- he and Hermione dressed for the occasion, arm in arm, with Teddy nestled close; the background of the photograph seemed to glisten with lightly falling snow- but the larger part of Harry's mind was rather preoccupied with anger.

Harry was used to the _Prophet_ raking his name through the muck, and not that Hermione hadn't also experienced her share of muck over the years, being his best friend, but this article, this story that not merely _implied_ , but reported like it was _truth_ , that Teddy was none other than the child of he and Hermione, reached new levels.

Harry was outraged that the _Prophet_ would report on something so unsupported, on the cover no less, about Hermione, a person who had given up everything for the war, a person who had nearly lost it all. He was even more irate that they dragged his godson, an innocent orphaned baby, into it as well.

 _I'm sure they did it to you_ , Harry thought angrily to himself, imagining what the _Prophet_ may have written about him when he was barely a year old.

Just then, his thoughts were interrupted by another tap at the window. It was another owl, this time, with a small parcel tied to its leg. It was wrapped in light blue paper.

Arthur received it, and peered at the package, "It's addressed to you, Harry. There's no name."

Harry couldn't stand to read more than the first few lines. He unceremoniously tossed the paper down on the table. Fleur picked it up and began reading. She continued to shake her head, and began making "tsk" noises.

Fleur agreed it was in poor taste that the _Daily_ _Prophet_ would fabricate a story about an innocent child, but part of her could not help but feel validated. When she saw Harry, Hermione, and Teddy together at the wedding, she knew they would draw all sorts of attention- both welcome _and_ unwanted.

Harry accepted the mysterious package from Arthur, just at Bill and Charlie appeared, taking seats at the kitchen table. Bill kissed his wife on the cheek, then snuck a sip of her tea. Charlie helped himself to some of Percy's toast.

They'd heard what Arthur had said about the package, but were still unaware of the _Prophet's_ cover story.

"Best check that parcel out first, Harry. Could be trouble," Charlie informed.

"Hand it here, Harry," Bill said, outstretching his hand. Harry handed it over readily, knowing that Bill was a skilled curse breaker.

Bill pulled his wand from his pocket, and began performing a number of tests. Fleur placed the _Prophet_ back on the table, admiring her husband's work.

Just then, Neville, Ginny, and Luna entered the room, wishing everyone a happy Christmas. When only Arthur and Charlie responded, they quickly realized everyone else was preoccupied with the package.

"Is it cursed?" Ginny asked, sitting herself next to Bill, observing.

"Not sure yet…"

"It was addressed to Harry," Percy informed.

"Definitely cursed," Neville joked, sensing the mood in the room was heavy, and trying to lighten it. It was Christmas after all.

Harry smiled weakly, appreciating Neville's effort, but quickly frowned again as Luna held up the _Prophet_ , showing it off to the room.

"Oh, Harry! What a lovely photograph of you, Hermione, and Teddy," Luna exclaimed.

Ginny, Neville, and Charlie looked at Luna quizzically, but after catching a glimpse of the cover, especially the title cover, their quizzical looks turned to shock and horror.

Ginny silently rose from her seat and moved toward her friend. She wordlessly rotated the paper in Luna's hands. Luna's eyes widened, if that was possible.

"Oh…," she breathed. "I did't see the title…"

"All set, Harry. Seems fine to me," Bill announced, breaking the silence.

Harry began to unwrap the package.

Just then, another tap sounded from the window. This tap was louder than the others that preceded it. It was two owls this time, both with parcels attached to their legs. Again, Arthur received them as Harry continued to unwrap the box.

Everyone, except Luna, who was now pouring over the _Prophet_ , watched as the blue wrappings fell to the floor. Harry paused, then pulled a rattle from the box.

As Harry lifted the rattle, more tapping could be heard from the window. More owls. More blue packages.

Neville moved to help Mr. Weasley with the onslaught of incoming parcels.

"All addressed to you Harry," Arthur informed, shaking his head.

"Bloody _Prophet_ ," Neville muttered.

"Teddy's going to be one happy baby this Christmas," Ginny snickered.

Harry rolled his eyes in exasperation and placed the rattle back in the box. He slumped into a chair.

 _At least Hermione's not awake yet,_ Harry thought miserably, _and Ron_. _And Mrs. Weasley._

Harry wasn't sure who'd be more upset. He was glad Hermione's parents didn't receive the _Prophet_.

"And I was starting to give the _Prophet_ a chance… so inaccurate, this whole thing!" Luna started, peering up over the paper. Harry was emboldened that someone else also felt anger, but then Luna continued.

"If Teddy was born in April, Hermione would've had to get pregnant in August, not September… well unless he was born early I suppose… but it's absurd to think that someone could get pregnant under that much stress…"

Harry knew Luna was trying to help, but he wished, in this moment, she wouldn't.

"Who's pregnant?" Hermione asked, appearing in the kitchen's doorway.

Harry's heart skipped a beat, or two.

Everyone stared at Hermione.

The owls continued to arrive, rapping on various kitchen windows. The room was otherwise silent.

"Um-" Harry began weakly.

"I am!" Fleur announced unexpectedly. "I am pregnant. Bill and I are expecting!"

Everyone now stared at Fleur. Bill especially.

"YOU ARE?!" Mrs. Weasley's voice rang through the silence. She bounded into the kitchen, brushing past Hermione and the rest of her children to encompass Fleur in a hug, promptly sobbing into her daughter-in-law's shoulder.

Noting that everyone's attention was now far, far away from the cover story in today's _Prophet_ , Harry knew he owed Fleur double- for last night when she'd covered for his and Hermione's disappearance, and now.

The pointed look Fleur shot Harry over Mrs. Weasley's shoulder make it quite clear that she was thinking the same thing.

"Oh, this is so wonderful! And on Christmas, too!" Mrs. Weasley sobbed, "Two weddings and now a baby! Arthur, isn't it wonderful!? Grandparents!" Molly continued.

Molly abruptly released Fleur to embrace her husband. Bill placed his arm gently around his wife. They smiled at one another appreciatively.

"More like two weddings and _two_ babies," Ginny mumbled, smirking diabolically at Harry. Neville heard, and tried to stifle his laugh. Harry glared at his friends. He hoped his look said 'you're dead.'

Everyone now gathered around Bill and Fleur to wish them well and ask them a slew of questions. In all the commotion, no one had thought to remove the _Prophet_ from the table, and even though Fleur had provided the diversion to end all diversions, it wasn't long before Hermione had spotted the cover of the paper, and moved to pick it up.

Outside, new owls bearing gifts continued to arrive, but realizing they were now being ignored, the birds no longer bothered tapping on the windows. They just dropped their parcels and flew off. Harry quite wished he could do the same, as he watched in dismay as Hermione held the publication in front of her, scanning the photograph and the title.

Hermione looked up to meet Harry's gaze, and Harry braced himself. Hermione smiled.

"I've got to admit… it's a nice photograph. The title needs some work though," Hermione said, tossing the _Prophet_ back on the table, without reading the article. Harry had only scanned a few lines himself.

Harry scratched the back of his head, he didn't know what to say.

Hermione continued, "Seems your immunity's dried up, Harry."

She moved to pick up the box containing the rattle. She shook it, and her smile widened.

"Teddy's going to have a lot of gifts this year… I hope Andromeda will want to donate what he doesn't need."

Harry was a bit perplexed at Hermione's nonchalant reaction. He was upset at the _Prophet_ , for using his friend and his godson for a story. He was upset that his privacy had been infiltrated, for perhaps the hundredth time.

Hermione saw this, and continued before Harry could start, "It's all right, Harry. Nothing the _Prophet_ does really surprises me anymore… it was only a matter of time before they started on you again."

Harry knew Hermione was right. He'd been daft to think the media would leave him alone for the rest of his life. He considered maybe it'd been a lie he told himself, to try to make his life simpler.

"But- but you… and Teddy-"

Hermione waved her hand dismissively, "If someone judges me poorly based on this- I don't think I want to associate with them anyway. And Teddy… well, that _is_ a problem. I'm sure there are laws protecting young children from things like this. It's certainly not fair to him. I'll write a _nice_ cease and desist letter to them-"

"No- no, don't," Harry interrupted.

Seeing Hermione's surprised look, he blushed.

"I just mean… it might make things worse. _I'll_ write to them, a correction letter."

"Harry's right," Arthur said, joining their conversation. "The _Prophet_ can be rather…stubborn."

Hermione nodded, then moved to look for a pair of scissors.

"Well, if no one has any objection, I'm cutting out that photo of us to keep."

Harry chuckled. He was appreciative that Hermione was trying to see the bright side of this.

"There's a nice picture of you both dancing on page seven, too," Luna chimed.

"What's with all the noise?" Ron asked, his hair messy and his dressing robe disheveled as he joined the group.

"Well, the entire wizarding world thinks Teddy is Harry and Hermione's secret lovechild, so that noise was from a thousand owls dropping off gifts for him…," Ginny explained, "…oh, and Fleur and Bill are going to have a baby."

The piece of toast Ron had just picked up promptly dropped fell to the floor as he gaped at Harry and Hermione. Apparently, the bit about Fleur and Bill hadn't gotten past 'Harry and Hermione's secret lovechild.'

Hermione continued merrily cutting the photographs from the _Prophet_ , as if nothing had happened. Harry glared at Ginny again, hoping maybe his uncontrolled, wandless magic would kick in.

"So helpful, as always, Gin," Charlie chuckled sarcastically.

"Glad to be of service… happy Christmas everyone!" She exclaimed in a singsong tone, then, seeing Harry's look, quickly disappeared into the living room.

Neville shook his head in humorous disbelief, watching Ginny go, "Well, Ron was going to find out anyway."

"Find out _what_ , may I ask?!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, Bill and Fleur forgotten for a moment, looking back and forth between Harry and Hermione. She had not seen the _Prophet_ yet. Harry blushed scarlet.

Ron continued to stare wordlessly in disbelief.

"Oh, everyone stop being so melodramatic! The _Prophet_ published some utter nonsense, as usual, about Harry, and dragged little Teddy along," having completed removing the photos from the paper, Hermione pressed the cover of the Prophet into Ron's hands. She handed the other pages to Mrs. Weasley.

Harry agreed, the article _was_ utter nonsense, but some part of him was hurt by Hermione's comment.

Ron continued to gape, but this time at the contents of the article. Hermione also showed him the picture from page seven.

By the time Ron gathered the wherewithal to formulate words, nearly everyone, including Mrs. Weasley, had moved to the living room to begin opening Christmas presents.

Harry sensed no one wanted to be a part of the conversation which was very likely about to ensue.

"Where was I when this happened?" Ron asked, referencing the picture of Hermione and Harry dancing. Harry hadn't seen the picture yet, so moved to stand by his friends to get a better look.

In the photograph, he and Hermione were indeed dancing, as they'd done after George and Angelina's ceremony, as if they were the only two people in the room. The image of Harry lifted and spun the image of Hermione, both wore joyous smiles on their faces.

"Fireworks, I think," Hermione said, and moved to take the picture back from Ron. He didn't let go. Hermione frowned.

Ron looked up at Harry expectantly, "What're you going to do anything about this?"

"Well I-" Harry started, chuckling. He was starting to see the humor in all this. He hoped he could get Ron to that point as well. Hermione interrupted.

"He's going to write a correction letter, he already said so. It's nonsense, Ron, you know how the _Prophet_ is…," Hermione looked between Ron and the photograph he still clutched in his hands worriedly. She was trying her best to diffuse the tension.

 _There's that word again, 'nonsense,'_ Harry thought, again feeling put out by Hermione's words. _Is it so absurd to think someone would want to have a child with me?_

His dream from the morning flooded him mind again. _Maybe I will end up alone_ , Harry thought.

"Nonsense isn't strong enough… but I guess I can't blame the _Prophet,_ " Ron said.

Harry and Hermione gaped at Ron's response. They shared a look.

Hermione was the first to speak. She felt quite certain she knew what Ron was getting at, but she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt before her rebuttal.

"What do you mean, Ron?" She asked.

"Well, I mean, based on these pictures… and with Teddy changing to look like Harry…it does kind of look like you and Harry… y'know."

Ron wasn't trying to be funny. Harry knew this, but tried to convince himself otherwise.

"Yeah, he's as uncomfortable with attention as I am…" Harry said, in a lame attempt to ease the tension he could feel growing.

"You don't seem so uncomfortable in these pictures," Ron said, finally relenting the photo. He picked up the other. Hermione gritted her teeth.

"Funny, Ron," Harry said sarcastically, again trying to diffuse the tension, "You caught me, I hired the photographer myself."

"Of course this article is _absurd_ , Ron… There's no way…" Hermione continued, looking down at the photograph in her hands.

"What Hermione, no way you and Harry could be together?" Ron said. He didn't sound angry, he didn't sound upset. His voice was leveled, almost sure. "You've never actually said it."

Harry and Hermione both sucked in air, as if bracing themselves.

"Ron…" Hermione said softly. She didn't want to argue. She wanted to be happy with her friends and family. It was Christmas.

"Plus, I wasn't with you both this time last year… And you both disappeared last night…"

"Ron, I needed help with Teddy-"

"I know that's what you said, Harry, but I'm not daft. I remember you and Hermione said you went to Godric's Hollow this time last year… I know you probably went somewhere like that again last night, without me."

"Ron-" Hermione started, but Ron continued.

"No, Hermione, it's okay… I- I understand that, actually. I understand that I left you both last year, and I know the locket's no excuse… I get why you didn't ask me to come along with you last night."

Harry and Hermione looked at Ron, their best friend, in silence. They let him continue.

"I regret it every day, or nearly every day, anyway… leaving you both, but I get it. I get why you left me last night… But I can you really blame the _Prophet_ for thinking this stuff… so many people've thought it before, myself included," as Ron said this, he looked at Harry pointedly.

Harry and Ron thought of what happened when Ron had destroyed Voldemort's locket.

"Plus…" Ron chuckled sarcastically, "I don't actually know what happened after I left last year…" Ron continued.

While Harry had been listening to Ron with surprise, and respect, he now felt anger.

 _What is he trying to say?_

"Ron, that's ridiculous, I told you, _nothing_ …" Hermione said softly, sadly.

Ron looked to Harry questioningly. Harry said nothing. He wasn't going to entertain Ron's comment. If Ron wanted to know, he could ask Harry directly, not in some roundabout way.

Harry was about to say something, but Hermione looked up, fire in her eyes.

"So what you're saying is… you agree with the _Prophet_. You think Harry and I _had a baby_? And that baby is Teddy?" She spat the words out like poison.

Although directed at Ron, her words stung Harry.

"No, not a baby, but-"

"No, but what, Ron?" She knew exactly what Ron was implying.

 _If he really wants to know, he can ask himself,_ Hermione thought.

Getting nothing from Hermione, Ron looked back to Harry, but Harry wasn't taking the bait. He couldn't believe Ron didn't trust them, after _he_ had been the one who had left.

"You're not denying it," Ron said defensively, crossing his arms, looking back to Hermione. He recognized now that he was being childish, but he'd gone too far to turn back.

"So you're upset I haven't detailed every little thing that happened after you left last year? You want a moment by moment recounting? Well, I don't remember so clearly. You can start with what happened when that locket opened, and maybe that will help jog my memory."

"You still haven't told her?" Harry asked incredulously, thinking perhaps Ron had explained to Hermione about the locket sometime after their conversation with Hermione's parents.

Ron sputtered.

"No, he hasn't… and neither have you," Hermione said, turning her attention to Harry.

Harry wanted to tell her, and suspected some part of Ron dd as well, but Harry knew it wasn't his story to tell.

"Hermione, no, don't blame Harry…" Ron pleaded. Harry felt his anger subside a little, replaced with confusion. He wasn't sure what to think of Ron at the moment.

"I don't blame Harry. I blame you. Now's not the time to talk about these things. It's Christmas. Let's join the others," Hermione's comment left little room for argument. She disappeared into the living room.

Harry and Ron glanced at each other with trepidation.

"You should tell her, Ron, it's not fair."

"She should tell me some things too… and you should really think about working on your lying skills, or lack thereof," Ron said, then disappeared into the living room before Harry had a chance to ask him what he really meant.

Harry admitted he was beginning to feel a little regret that he and Hermione had not been honest with Ron about their visit to Cokeworth; however, he continued to feel no remorse for not including him.

Harry, Hermione, and Ron's physical wounds had healed since the end of the war, leaving scars. None of them had given much thought or attention to healing the wounds their friendship had endured. It was clear to all three that this time had come, whether they were ready or not.

Harry knew there'd be scars there as well, vestiges of the damage their relationships had endured, but he hoped none were too deep.

 _Happy Christmas to me_ , Harry thought.

/

/

The remainder of Christmas morning and afternoon was spent opening gifts. While George and Angelina had left for a short honeymoon, everyone, including Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Teddy, and Andromeda, cozied up in the Burrow's living room.

As usual, Mrs. Weasley had knitted everyone new monogrammed jumpers.

"I'm sorry they are the same color… after that article in the _Prophet_ , you don't need another thing to keep people talking," Mrs. Weasley apologized, grimacing as Harry unwrapped his jumper. The box contained not one, but two emerald green sweaters, one large, knitted with an "H," and one small, knitted with a "T," for Teddy.

Harry smiled and waved off her comment. He thought of what Hermione had said earlier, how she wouldn't want to associate with anyone who would judge her based on that article anyway. He threw his sweater on over his head and smiled.

"It's great, Mrs. Weasley, thank you."

"That's so sweet, Molly, thank you!" Andromeda said happily, holding Teddy's jumper up against Harry's. Teddy himself was otherwise occupied with Bill, Fleur, and Ginny, who were amusing him with some very glittery bits of wrapping paper.

Harry and Andromeda's comments seemed to appease Mrs. Weasley, until Hermione held her jumper up to her chest. Her "H" jumper was green too. The rest of the Weasley men had received maroon, and Ginny, Luna, and Fleur's were blue or purple.

"You sure you didn't write that article yourself, dear?" Arthur joked, trying to lighten the mood.

Ron's face turned the color of his sweater. Molly glared at her husband. Nearly everyone else in the room, including Harry and Hermione, laughed. Mr. and Mrs. Granger looked at Arthur bemused, still unaware of the _Prophet's_ cover story. Admittedly, Harry, Ron, and Hermione rather preferred it that way.

Hermione's jumper was quickly forgotten as Harry, with Teddy propped on his lap, and Andromeda began opening Teddy's presents from Hermione, the Weasleys, Luna, Neville, and Harry himself. Even though Teddy was still a baby, he received more than enough toys, books, and clothes, both magical and non-magical, to last him well into, and likely beyond, toddlerhood.

"And here I was, worried about all the gifts piling up _at home_ ," Andromeda said, referencing the numerous parcels for Teddy that showed up unannounced at her house this morning, as they had at the Weasleys'. Apparently, the article in the _Prophet_ had named Andromeda and Molly as Teddy's godmothers.

Andromeda had read the article, and was able to quickly deduce why dozens of owls suddenly appeared outside her windows that morning. She didn't mention the article to Harry when she arrived at the Burrow, but one look said she knew.

Harry told her not to worry, which put her at ease. She'd been fearful of his reaction, not because she feared what he might do, but because she felt it was so unfair of the wizarding community to treat him, Teddy, and Hermione in such an exploitative way.

"What're you going to do with all the baby gifts?" Hermione asked kindly.

"Fleur, I'd love for you to look through to see if there is anything you'd like for your little one," Andromeda said.

"That is so kind of you," Fleur said with gratitude.

"Then I'd love to donate the rest of the items to St. Mungo's children's ward," Andromeda explained.

"I can sort the items," Fleur continued.

"I'd love to help, too," Hermione offered.

"Me too," Luna echoed.

Andromeda readily accepted.

As this exchange took place, Ron silently handed Harry a gift. Harry opened it to find a box full of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products.

"All the new things we're testing out for this year," Ron said flatly, still uncomfortable, "From George and I. Still not available for purchase yet."

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said earnestly, closely examining a opalescent sphere, imagining the enjoyment Teddy would get watching him test out the items.

Ron hesitated, then said, "Might not want to hold those too close… still testing them. You're already blind as it is."

Harry smirked and put the ball back into the box, "Thanks for the warning."

Harry gave Ron new Quidditch gloves. As Ron opened them, Harry said, "I told Spudmore we'd go get our new brooms fitted in January."

This seemed to cheer Ron up immensely, and the conversation they'd had earlier in the kitchen was momentarily forgotten.

Harry had spent a lot of time, and money, picking out gifts for his loved ones this year. It was something he'd never been able to do before, and found that he'd gotten himself quite caught up in it the week leading up to Christmas.

He'd gotten so carried away, he wasn't sure if he could even recall each of the gifts he'd picked out for his godson, there had been so many.

He'd also enjoyed picking out other gifts, including the aforementioned dragon hide gloves for Ron, Ginny, and George that were charmed to never be too stiff nor stretch out, a scarf and gloves that automatically matched your outfit for Mrs. Weasley, a whole tool kit from a Muggle hardware store for Mr. Weasley, and, having noticed hers was getting rather worn out, a new healer bag for Andromeda.

He'd even gotten gifts for the Grangers,' including a bottle of wine made from grapes apparently fertilized with dragon droppings, (knowing nothing about wine, he'd asked the clerk to pick out a bottle for him), a book specifically made for keeping score in Scrabble, and a charmed, mouse-shaped, catnip-filled toy for Crookshanks.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger presented Harry with a gift as well, a scarf.

"We figured you'd want one of your own, after you, uh, borrowed Hermione's," Mr. Granger explained with a laugh.

"You can borrow my scarf any time, Harry, don't mind him," Hermione chuckled.

When Harry exchanged his gifts with Hermione's parents, he didn't note Ron's grimace from across the room. Ron had neglected to get gifts for Mr. and Mrs. Granger. He looked away as Harry wrapped his new scarf around his shoulders.

Harry smiled nervously as Hermione opened her gift from him. It was something he'd purchased rather impulsively.

Hermione undid the haphazard wrapping (Harry tried his best) to reveal a journal. Engraved on the cover were vines of silver and gold, and a snowy owl in the center. The spine of the book was also engraved with her initials. As Hermione carefully ran her fingers over the cover, the owl's feathers shimmered and vibrated, as if the bird were in flight.

"Oh, Harry, it's beautiful…"

"I looked for a first edition of _Hogwarts: A History_ , but the book clerk pretty much laughed in my face and asked me if I was feeling all right… Then I thought maybe I'd get you an actual snowy owl but…"

Hermione looked up and smiled, "This is perfect, Harry, thank you!" She hugged him tightly.

"Now I feel bad about my gift to you, though," she said.

"I'm sure it's fine, Hermione," Harry said as he began to open the present she'd given him.

"With everything that happened this year, I didn't really have time…"

As Harry tore the tissue paper away, a round, golden ornament revealed itself. The ornament had his face on it and read, "HAVE A VERY HARRY CHRISTMAS!"

At first, Harry was perplexed by the gift, but then he remembered this was one of the ornaments Dobby had made to decorate the D.A. classroom during Christmas of their fifth year.

Wordlessly, Harry smiled, and hugged Hermione.

"It's one of Dobby's ornaments," Hermione said, as Harry continued to hug her. "I saved it from fifth year. Do you like it?"

"I love it," Harry said truthfully. He didn't have anything but his own memories to remember his friend, nothing to show his potential future family, to tell them about the friend who'd saved his life, so that they could live.

Now he did.

Hermione beamed. "I enchanted it. It should never break."

Harry let the fears prompted by their earlier conversation vanish. He'd been worried about his friendship with Ron and Hermione. He'd been worried he'd be alone, his dream that morning revealed as much.

Harry knew he may never find the right to spend the rest of his life with. He knew Ron and Hermione could be married one day, and that could change things. But, as he gazed between Dobby's ornament and Hermione's smiling face, he knew the bond they had would never break.

He knew he'd never be alone.

/

/


	12. Chapter 12 - Charms

A/N: This is the month that never ends! I hope you continue to read and enjoy. Thank you!

/

/

Harry returned home with Andromeda and Teddy Christmas evening. Mr. and Mrs. Granger, Luna, Neville, Bill and Fleur, and Charlie returned to their respective homes as well.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley retired early, exhausted from the festivities leading up to Christmas and the continued excitement of Christmas day.

Left alone in the living room, surrounded by discarded wrapping paper, a few forgotten gifts, and mountains of blankets and throw pillows were Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

Percy had just gone to bed, and, sensing the tension that still lingered between Ron and Hermione, Ginny excused herself as well.

Hermione knew a conversation with Ron was warranted before she could return home, but she busied herself cleaning up the remnant wrapping paper, the Muggle way, attempting in vain to delay the inevitable.

"Hermione?" Ron ventured cautiously. He recalled he'd said a lot of things earlier, things he knew upset Hermione.

"Mmm?" Hermione continued idly stuffing the rubbish into bags.

"D'you think you're going to take that Charms position?"

It wasn't the question she expected Ron to ask, but she didn't mind. At the moment, she'd entertain anything to avoid a conversation like the one she'd had earlier with Ron and Harry.

In truth, she hadn't given McGonagall's offer much thought, preoccupied with the wedding, and Cokeworth, and the _Prophet_ , but as she considered Ron's question, the answer was clear in her mind.

"Yes… yes, I think I'm going to accept."

Hermione considered what the decision meant for her. She would probably move back to Hogwarts. She certainly would have less free time… and less time with Ron, and Harry. The former, moving back to Hogwarts, excited her, but the latter made her second guess herself.

 _Harry._ Hermione paused.

She remembered their recent promise, to help each other through their post-war uncertainty. Her decision to accept a position at Hogwarts certainly helped her, gave _her_ purpose.

 _But what will Harry do?_ Hermione wondered.

He had Teddy, yes, and being Teddy's godfather was certainly the most important, and most challenging, job of all. But Hermione felt that Harry needed something for himself, for his own future.

"Hermione?"

Hermione realized Ron was trying to get her attention. She hadn't noticed, engrossed in her thoughts.

"Sorry, Ron, what were you saying?"

Ron stared at her, bemused, then said, "I said, I think you're practically made to be a professor."

He paused.

"We can see each other on the weekends."

Even though she appreciated Ron's compliment, Hermione sighed tiredly, and plopped herself on the couch. Ron joined her.

"I hope you didn't think I forgot to get you something for Christmas," Ron said, changing the subject, a small, wrapped box appearing in his hands.

Hermione eyed the flat box out of the corner of her eye. In fact, she'd forgotten that Ron hadn't given her a gift yet, even though she'd gotten him something- a new keeper's helmet.

"Oh, no… thank you," she slowly undid the wrappings and opened the box. Inside was a bracelet made of a thin, gold chain. Attached was a small, golden 'H.'

"Ginny helped me pick it out… I hope it's okay."

Hermione did like it. Based on the style of the bracelet, which was delicate and pretty, she wasn't surprised to hear of Ginny's involvement in the purchase. Ron meant well, but she rather doubted he knew the first thing about women's jewelry in general, let alone her own particular taste.

"It's lovely Ron, thank you."

Ron looked at Hermione expectantly. She wasn't sure _what_ exactly he was expecting. The gift certainly was thoughtful, more thoughtful perhaps than anything he'd given her in the past, but Hermione got the feeling that Ron was trying to imply something more with this gift.

"Hermione, I… I'm sorry about what I said earlier, about the _Prophet,_ " Ron said in reference to their conversation earlier in the day, his voice quieter.

Hermione met Ron's gaze. In that moment, she didn't think about the article, or the photos of her and Harry in the _Prophet_. She didn't think about what Ron had said.

All she could think about was how many times she and Ron had been here, under comically similar circumstances, how many times he apologized for something he'd done, or not done, or said, or not said. How many times she whether quickly or eventually, accepted his apology, assured him it was okay.

 _But it's not okay_ , Hermione thought.

She realized then that a decidedly regular pattern had formed, a decidedly unhealthy and unfair pattern that was _not_ okay. She wasn't okay Ron had abandoned her and Harry in the woods last year. She wasn't okay that he was upset about the article in the _Prophet_.

She wasn't okay with how confused she felt about their relationship.

And even though she wasn't okay with it all, now understanding clearly, she also wasn't _sorry_ for it.

"I'm not," the words fell out of her mouth without warning.

Ron's apologetic gaze rapidly turned confused.

"I'm not sorry you said those things… they were honest. It's how you feel."

"No, Hermione, I-"

"Ron… I know how frustrating it is for you to see and hear things like that, about Harry and I. It happened fourth year too, remember?"

Ron nodded silently.

"I know you don't want to tell me about the locket because- because it has something to do with that. I think I understand that now."

"Hermione-"

Hermione held up her hand, "You can tell me when you're ready. I promise I won't bother Harry about it, either. But… but I'm not going to give you every little detail of what happened after you left us last year, because I already told you what happened- or didn't happen," Hermione chuckled dryly, "How much progress we didn't make… Godric's Hollow…"

Ron looked down at his hands knotted in his lap.

"I know, I'm sorry… I know nothing- nothing like that, happened. But, I-"

Hermione placed a hand on his arm encouragingly, "I think- I think we need to talk about these things."

Ron looked up. He resigned himself to this reality, and steeled himself for what Hermione may say or do.

"I feel like I can't help it. I know you two went somewhere without me last night. I feel like- like that's always happened, you two- without me, one way or another," Ron shrugged.

Hermione waited for him to continue.

"I mean, there were times when you've _done_ things without me… like fourth year… that was my fault, I know… but sometimes you're both standing right in front of me, and you're somewhere _else_ , I guess. And now… now it just- it feels worse now…"

"Ron, you and Harry do things without me. We don't exclude you on purpose-"

"Not those times, no, but last night?" Ron paused, "And it's different, Harry and me versus _you_ and me- we're supposed to be together, or something."

"So will you feel the same when I spend time with Neville, or Percy, or George?" Hermione asked curtly.

Hermione was beginning to feel irritated.

"No!" Ron quickly corrected, "It's not like that it's…"

"It's Harry." Hermione said plainly. She understood now.

Ron was silent.

"Ron, you know how I feel-"

"But that's just it, I think. What's bothering me the most. I _don't_ know how you feel about Harry, or about me."

"You're my best friends," Hermione answered easily. It was true.

Ron sighed. "Right. I know that, but how is anything any different then? So you feel the same about me as you do Harry?"

Hermione painfully realized that she had no answer for Ron. She had always done her best to avoid comparing her best friends,considering how unfair that would be.

She attempted to observe the situation objectively, and found how _odd_ it was, to not know how you felt about your best friends. To not know how you felt about someone who was supposedly your boyfriend, or something.

She felt guilty.

 _Maybe I've been unfair to Ron,_ Hermione thought. _How_ do _I feel about him?_

 _How do I feel about Harry?_

She felt a knot begin to form in her throat. Suddenly, Hermione found it difficult to breathe.

She decided that maybe it was in her best interest to figure it out.

 _But not now_ , she reasoned.

Ron sighed.

"I guess I'm confused too, Hermione, par for the course," Ron chuckled sarcastically, "Merlin… what're we doing?"

Hermione looked at him quizzically, trying to avoid the question. It was a rare occasion, but she didn't have an answer.

In truth, she wasn't _ready_ to have an answer.

Ron sighed again. Hermione relented.

"I guess I- I don't know, Ron. I just… I feel like I don't know anything anymore. It was part of why I had so much trouble sleeping," Hermione's eyes were downcast, "why I still do."

Ron considered Hermione's statement for a moment.

He remembered Hermione describing her nightmares, and why she'd taken sleeping draught. He hadn't considered there had been more to it than that. He felt foolish now for not realizing that it must have been so _much_ more than nightmares to lead her down such a desperate path.

"How do you feel about me?" Ron asked again, this time more directly.

He was tired, physically, and emotionally. Realistically, he was unsure of his own feelings, but he didn't think it was unfair to ask how she felt about him. He knew he wanted to be close to Hermione. Their kiss after destroying the cup had been exhilarating, but since then, everything sort of felt… the same. They were best friends, he knew, but he was starting to question if was there anything else to their relationship.

The only thing he knew for certain was that he didn't want to feel unsure anymore.

"Ron, I… you're my best friend… I wouldn't do anything to hurt you."

"You'd say the same about Harry. I know it's insecure of me, Hermione, I get that, but I think I need to know. I think maybe…. maybe you need to know too."

She thought of the kiss she'd shared with Ron in the Chamber of Secrets during the final battle. She tried to remember how she'd felt then… she thought of how she felt before that, too, when Ron returned…

She'd been so elated, in both instances. She'd destroyed a horcrux, she had her other best friend back. She could protect him. He was tangible, and real, and in that very uncertain time, she felt sure she had some control- she wouldn't lose him again, she knew he wasn't going anywhere.

That had all been before Harry entered the Forbidden Forest alone, to face his fate, before she thought Harry'd been dead, before he defeated Voldemort and _lived_. It had all been before this new life in which she was trying to find her place, her new purpose.

Ron's return and that kiss seemed like a different lifetime ago. Hermione knew the person she'd been then was still part of who she was, who she was becoming, she wasn't so naive as to deny her past, but as she looked up at Ron now, Hermione felt no desire to repeat the kiss.

She felt a closeness to him, yes, but she asked herself for the first time…

 _Do I love him?_

As best she could, Hermione silenced her mind, her logic and reason, and allowed her heart to feel.

She imagined herself in Angelina's place, and Ron in George's place, getting married. She shook her head. It didn't feel right. Then she imagined herself as Fleur, and Ron as Bill, preparing to have a child. She extinguished the mental image as quickly as it had come.

It wasn't right.

Hermione then recalled, for a brief moment when they were dancing at the wedding reception, she'd briefly imagined herself marrying Harry. She envisioned it again now, more fully.

She allowed herself to imagine a world where the gist of the article in today's _Prophet_ was true, a world where she and Harry were together, a world in which they had their own family.

Hermione didn't immediately banish the image. In fact, she let the picture grow, take root in her mind. She felt her heart beat faster, she felt heat emanate from her hands and face.

The image evoked feelings of alignment and purpose, of _clarity_.

She was familiar with clarity and purpose. She often felt them when, after hours of research, she discovered an elusive answer; when she formulated a solution to help a friend; when her abilities of quick wit and rationalization resulted in a favorable outcome.

But this clarity was different. It was overwhelming, and uncontrolled. This overwhelming sense of synchronicity was all mixed with something new, something exciting, something decidedly warm.

These feelings frightened her, produced a fear so startling, she was rendered beyond the formulation of any comprehensible words. These overpowering feelings rendered her beyond thought.

"Hermione?" Ron ventured.

The images in her mind faded, and Ron materialized in front of her. Her heart slowed as reality came back into view.

She understood what she needed now.

"Ron, I… I think I need time to figure things out," she looked up at him, "and I think you do too."

He was about to speak, to argue, to fight to keep her close. But he paused. The words didn't come, the feeling to fight didn't spark.

 _Time…_ they had it now, lots of it. Time was something he, Hermione, and Harry weren't sure they ever had much of in the past. Time had always been foreign. But now, time seemed right to Ron. Hermione was right.

"You're right, as usual," Ron smiled sadly. He felt older now, but he was okay with that.

He considered maybe time would help him leave his jealousy behind, would help him better understand how he felt, what he really wanted. He hoped it would help Hermione in this way too.

He hoped time would lead her back to him, and if for some reason it didn't, he suddenly realized, that would be okay.

In this moment, Ron changed, he grew. It had been a long journey for him, and it would be still, but he was making strides now, learning to set his insecurities (and the selfishness spurned by them) aside, to consider what was _actually_ good for Hermione- not just what _he_ wanted, or what he wanted for her- to put Hermione's happiness before his own.

 _As long as she's happy,_ Ron thought.

Hermione felt something between them shift, as if a long, splintered rope, gnarled and knotted, had snapped. But she felt a new connection take its place, a new, smooth thread born by understanding.

She nodded, and moved to give the bracelet back to Ron.

"No," Ron said, "Keep it. I bought it because I thought you would like it."

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione said, smiling, and she meant it. Not just for the bracelet, but for his gift of understanding, and selflessness.

She had a lot to figure out, Hermione understood, but now she truly felt she had the space and time to do so.


	13. Chapter 13 - A Photograph's Worth

A/N: Here it is! The final part of December. I hope you enjoy!

/

/

By the time Hermione returned home, the house was dark and quiet, the only sounds the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall and the distant vibration of her father's snore.

Tripping over a very persistent Crookshanks winding his way in and out of his owner's legs, Hermione nearly met the floor face first in her attempt to manage her way through the feeble glow cast by the light her parents had left on in the kitchen.

Haphazardly regaining her balance, she made her way upstairs, Crookshanks at her heels. Once in her bedroom, she remembered the gift Harry had bought her cat, and presented it to him then.

Although Christmas had come quite late for Crookshanks, the caliber of said gift certainly made up for it, and he eagerly busied himself with the toy as Hermione unpacked her things.

Well acquainted with her mind's warning signs of a forthcoming sleepless night, Hermione resigned herself to the long hours ahead. She knew little to no sleep would escort her consciousness into restful unconscious tonight. So, rather than spend what was left of the evening's solitude uselessly tossing and turning in bed, she sat herself at her desk.

Switching the lamp alight with a flick of her wand, Crookshanks gingerly leapt into her lap, mouse toy and all, purring, and promptly fell asleep.

Occupying the center of desk's surface, the owl on the cover of the journal Harry gave her for Christmas appeared to be sleeping as well.

 _At least some of us will get some sleep tonight,_ Hermione mused enviously, scratching her cat between the ears.

Hermione certainly made good use of journals and notebooks over the years, in one way or another, whether to take notes, make plans, jot drafts for essays, or to record her thoughts and experiences. She felt this particular book was rather special, not merely because of its charming design, and decided it would be used for traditional journaling.

She rummaged through her desk drawer for quill and ink. Before the desired items could be discovered, however, Hermione happened upon a folded piece of parchment, her name written on the outside.

She immediately recognized Harry's scrawl.

Hermione felt a bit lightheaded as she slowly unfolded the parchment to reveal the message within. While Harry's letters had always been brief, Hermione was surprised to see this parchment covered in his untidy handwriting.

 _'_ _Hermione,_

 _Right now, you're asleep, you're in some kind of sleeping draught withdrawal, or at least that's what 'Dromeda, McGonagall, Slughorn, and Flitwick think. More help than those idiots from St. Mungo's, at least. And I'm here awake, I'm not sure the last time I slept. Actually, I do, it was the night I had dinner with you and your parents. How long ago was that?_

 _I'm sorry, I know I probably don't make any sense. But all I've been able to think coherently is how I should've helped you, talked to you, before any of this ever happened. And more than that, what a bloody awful friend I've been to you, not just now, but always._

 _If you're reading this, you're probably trying to deny it, to make me feel better, tell me I'm a good friend… but you need to stop.'_

It was true, Hermione was already silently listing ways to counter Harry's statement. His words gave her pause, so she read on.

 _'_ _I'm not, I haven't been a good friend._

 _Hermione, I didn't help you when you obliviated your parents, I didn't defend you all the times Ron was too caught up in himself to realize what he was doing to you… but the other night before dinner with your parents, and tonight when I looked at your owl figurine, and your scarf, and this picture of us on your desk, I realized I've never even asked you about your life before Hogwarts, or your family. You knew my dad was a great seeker before I even really knew was Quidditch was. I'm not even sure if you have cousins, or grandparents._

 _What kind of friend have I been? Not a good one… not even a passable one. So that's what I've been thinking, and Merlin, how much more selfish can I be? Is this fifth year again?'_

Hermione smiled reading this, as if Harry were sitting next to her, saying the words aloud. She read on.

 _I could say sorry, ask for your forgiveness, which I know you'd give, you always do. But that's not enough. It's not enough for me to just apologize._

Her thoughts returned to Harry's note.

 _'_ _Thinking about how you got your scar. At the time I didn't- couldn't- imagine you dying. I couqnt'd move, Hermione. I'm not sure I could breathe. And the other day, seeing your scar burning, seeing you unable to wake, it all came back…_

 _I'm worried that I might not ever get the chance to make it up to you. That you could die. Merlin, that's so hard to write. And Hermione, there can't be a world without you in it, definitely not while I'm still in it._

 _We've been close to death so many times. Actually, I think I may have_ actually _died- I'll tell you about it sometime- but, is this how you felt all those times I idiotically put myself in danger, all the times we were in danger together? If so, I'm sorry, I'm so bloody sorry… how have you done it for so long?'_

Hermione chuckled dryly.

 _Because he's my best friend,_ her mind answered back _._ But, when she really considered why, that answer didn't seem like enough. If there was something more to it, Hermione didn't, perhaps couldn't, bring herself to consider it. At least not yet.

 _'_ _But I never imagined you dying_ after _the war, Hermione._

 _That's not going to happen. I won't let it. I'll find a time turner if I have to.'_

Hermione paused as a small, watery dome appeared atop the parchment. Then another. She was crying. She did her best to read through her silent tears.

 _'_ _I'm also not going to be a bad friend._

 _Not anymore. I guess I'm writing this because I'm delirious and tired, but more than that… to promise you, and myself, that it's not going to be like that anymore. I'm going to help you,_ actually _help you… not just try to protect you from a deatheater's spell or a troll… I'm going to help you get through this, and after you wake up. You WILL wake up. I'm going to be a better friend._

 _I'm never going to be as good a friend to you as you've been to me, I'll never have enough time to reach that, to make up for everything, that's impossible. But I'm going to try to at least be someone you deserve, or get as close to that as humanely possible. You deserve so much better._

 _I still don't know how or why you've stuck around me so long, but thank you._

 _Thank you, Hermione._

 _Now please, wake up._

 _-Harry'_

Hermione took a deep breath, then read Harry's letter again, feeling as if she had to check to make sure it was real, to ensure her eyes hadn't played tricks on her, to confirm she wasn't actually reading a page she'd ripped out of a novel. No, this was a letter from her best friend.

And even though the letter was admittedly a bit incoherent, Harry's sentiment, his words, meant so much to her.

Her first instinct had been to refute Harry's claims, to defend him, assure him he'd always been a good friend, the best of friends, especially under his circumstances. But, somewhere between reading the letter a second and third time, a fog in her mind seemed to clear.

Hermione recognized she wasn't always the best friend she could have been to Harry, her sixth year came to mind. She also knew no one was perfect, especially where friendship was concerned.

But she also recognized now that it was more than a bit odd her best friends didn't know much about her life before and outside of Hogwarts, or her family.

Ron, like Harry, had never really asked about her life before Hogwarts, about her family. Sure, he had gotten to know her parents better during their trip to Australia, but _she_ had asked _him_ along. She was happy to have had him there, of course, but she had asked him because she thought that's what she was _supposed_ to do. Looking back now, she saw it as her attempt to keep a feeble spark lit. It had never really been Ron leading the effort.

Harry's letter was his way of owning up to what he'd neglected, she understood, his way of starting to make it right.

 _Has Ron made anything right?_ She wondered.

Again, she felt guilty for comparing Harry and Ron, as she had during her conversation with Ron earlier that night. She had always avoided comparing her best friends in the past. But after reading Harry's letter, after what Ron had asked her earlier, she couldn't stop herself.

It was easy for Hermione to recall moments, whether significant or small, Ron had hurt her, been less than a friend to her. The instances were numerous. She recognized that Ron was getting better, at least in some way. Their conversation earlier showed her that.

But Hermione wondered if Ron had ever truly reconciled the wrongs he'd done, the pain he'd caused her over the years… or if she had just tried to let it go, told him it was okay, time after time.

Everything in her mind now seemed to confirm the latter to be true.

Hermione had no trouble labeling herself as someone who did what she thought was right, and was proud to think of herself as such. She was also strong and brave. And even though, inside, part of her, at the very least, knew this to be true, she found it difficult to describe herself as such, to think of herself as such.

 _Have I been strong and brave with Ron?_

Sure, there had been times over the years, especially as of late, when she'd defended herself, when she'd been forthcoming with her thoughts of _disapproval_ regarding Ron's hurtful actions.

But she saw that maybe she never truly made him accountable.

She'd accepted Ron's verbal apologies, eventually, time after time, but was rarely witness to any significant, long-lasting change in their relationship, in his behavior toward her. Sure, after he hurt her, his demeanor and behavior towards her would usually rectify for a short while, but it was never too long before that change seemed undone.

 _It's partly my fault,_ Hermione acknowledged, _for letting it go all those times._

Hermione was starting to understand that she needed to learn to extend her strength and bravery beyond dangerous situations. She needed to learn to be strong and brave for herself, for her own true goals and desires, in her relationships as well.

Harry's letter affected her deeply, and after reading his words, she now understood fully that it _wasn't_ okay; how Ron had sometimes treated her over the years, the things he'd neglected.

She deserved better.

She deserved best friends who took the time to really get to know and understand her, to want what was truly best for her, as she did for them.

Harry recognized it first, but now, she saw it too.

In the moments after reading Harry's letter, what struck her most, was that this new effort, this new resolve to be better came _not_ from Ron (the best friend who had hurt her more often, the one with whom she was supposed to have been something "more"), but from Harry, from the best friend who was the one more likely to offer comfort when she was hurt, to challenge her to help her grow, to listen to her words, even when her voice was drowned out by the roar of others.

Hermione considered maybe her expectations of Ron had been unrealistic. Maybe she'd been blinding herself with the possibility of what and who he could be, what and who _they_ could be together, rather than what their relationship truly was.

Hermione didn't know what to make of it all. She didn't like comparing her best friends. She didn't like remembering all the times Ron had hurt her. She didn't like thinking Harry was a better friend than Ron.

Even amongst all her confusion, she felt confident she'd made the right choice, in asking Ron for some time and space.

Hermione recognized the changes Harry had already made in his effort to be a better friend. She had no doubt he would continue to make good on his promises. She knew he was reliable in many ways, in his promises to his friends most of all.

Hermione remembered _her_ promise to Harry, and knew what she had to do when she met with McGonagall. She hoped the headmistress would be on board… she hoped Harry wouldn't be angry with her.

Hermione carefully folded Harry's letter, and opened the journal he'd given her to place the letter between its blank pages.

The photographs she'd cut out from the morning's _Daily Prophet_ were already inside. She took a moment to appreciate the photos, side by side.

The photo of her dancing with Harry particularly captured her attention.

In the magical photograph, as she and Harry danced, even though their dancing was admittedly pretty far from what most people would call coordinated, her green dress glided and waved like water in the candlelight of the wedding marquee.

Hermione relented that maybe green _was_ a complimentary color on her after all.

The Harry and Hermione in the photo beamed at one another, laughing, as Harry spun her outward, then pulled her back to him, holding her close.

Hermione looked up to the frame on her shelf, the one that held the picture of her, Ron, and Harry from a few years ago. She reached for it, and carefully removed the old photograph, replacing it with the dancing photo from the _Prophet_.

She smiled as she placed the newly framed image back on the shelf, and the old one, she propped up beside it.

Hermione was tired, exhausted even, but she still recognized sleep would not come tonight, she had too much on her mind. She busied herself with a book, cozied up in one of the chairs by her bedside, her desk now out of view.

Hermione was approximately midway through said book when the Harry and Hermione pictured in the photograph from the _Prophet_ slowed the pace of their dance. They held each other close, swaying to silent music. Their eyes met, communicating wordlessly.

If a Muggle photograph was worth a thousand words, a magical one was worth no less than a billion; these photographs had ways of revealing the characteristics and relationships, both obvious and subtle, of its subjects. Sometimes, magical photos had ways of revealing things unknown to the subjects themselves, things perhaps yet to come.

The photographs of Harry and Hermione in the Christmas edition of the _Prophet_ were no exception.

In Topham, on the dining table of a witch, Madam Z. Nettles (who sighed contentedly at the sight), Harry and Hermione continued dancing slowly, holding each other close; in the hands of one Don Dodderidge, a man sprawled out by a roaring fire in the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione joyfully took a step back from Harry, only to allow room for said dance partner to show off a ridiculous dance move; in Kettlewell, in the rubbish bin of Ax Oxman, Harry and Hermione gazed down at Teddy, nestled in Hermione's arms, as they entered the wedding marquee.

Similar images could be viewed in the day's _Prophet_ in magical homes all over the United Kingdom, but only the photograph now framed on the desk in Hermione's room showed Harry bending his head to whisper something into Hermione's ear as they danced. Hermione's smile widened, and Harry pulled back to witness it. He brought his hand to her face, pulled her closer to him, before leaning forward again, this time to bring his lips to hers.

/

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/

A/N: Thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14 - Conditions

/

Hogwarts was empty, for all Harry and Hermione knew, as they made their way past the vacant Great Hall on their way to meet McGonagall.

Hermione had invited Harry along with her to meet their former professor, and Harry had obliged. Hermione, not wanting to purposefully leave him out of something again, had asked Ron as well, but, with George and Angelina still away on their honeymoon, he was busy re-opening the joke shop after the holiday.

Responsible for Teddy that day, Harry brought his godson along.

"I think it's Teddy's first time at Hogwarts," Harry said as they made their way up a moving staircase.

Hermione was carrying Teddy in a harness of sorts on the front of her body. She looked down at the baby and smiled.

"The first of many, I'm sure."

Just then, a small group of students hurried noisily by, bundled in winter gear, carrying brooms, and wearing rosy cheeks. They looked no older than thirteen.

Even though they were not yet ten years older than the students, Harry and Hermione were struck by how young the group looked, and how much older they felt.

Now about five feet ahead of Harry, Hermione, and Teddy, the students abruptly slowed their pace. Two of them turned their heads to glance back at Harry and Hermione. Seeing their glances had _not_ gone unnoticed by Harry and Hermione, the students quickly turned back to their friends and began whispering frantically.

Their reaction was not lost on Harry and Hermione as they remembered the article that had been in the _Daily Prophet_ on Christmas. They were also aware the articles seemed to keep on coming. Although, after Harry had sent his letter, the articles were now found on more interior pages of the publication.

Andromeda, Molly, Harry, and Hermione continued to receive gifts from well-wishers for Teddy, and even some "newlywed" gifts for Harry and Hermione themselves, although the owls certainly were beginning to arrive less frequently.

"Maybe we shouldn't have brought Teddy," Harry said, grimacing as the students picked up their pace again and hurried away, still whispering.

McGonagall considered a similar sentiment as she welcomed Harry, Hermione, and Teddy into her office. She was well aware of the articles in the _Prophet_ regarding her former students and Remus and Nymphadora's child, and nearly voiced her concern with Harry and Hermione then.

But, realizing that her former students needed her support, perhaps now more than ever, especially where Hermione was concerned, she refrained.

"It is a happy New Year for Hogwarts, indeed," McGonagall announced with a small smile, "I'm pleased you have accepted my offer,"

The headmistress occupied a chair on one side of her desk, while Harry and Hermione were seated together, opposite. Teddy crawled merrily about in his magical playpen on the floor beside them.

Harry turned in his chair to face Hermione, "That's brilliant, Hermione! I-"

"But she has a few conditions," McGonagall interrupted before Harry could continue.

Harry's expression transformed as he looked to Hermione quizzically.

 _What does this have to do with me?_ Harry wondered.

Hermione only smiled shyly in response.

"Conditions?" Harry asked, turning his gaze to McGonagall.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, conditions. While I'm not usually one to entertain _conditions_ ," she looked pointedly to Hermione, who blushed, "Ms. Granger has informed me that she will not accept the Charms position unless her conditions are met, or entertained at the very least."

Harry glanced at Hermione with surprise. _What's gotten into her?_

"Unexpectedly, she has provided me with a perfect solution to an ongoing problem. You see, Hogwarts has gone without Defense Against the Dark Arts for an entire semester. In fact, I'd say most would argue we've really gone without the class since your third year."

Harry nodded blankly.

"At any rate, the position has certainly been… unstable. Our students need stability, now more than ever. Ms. Granger informs me of how well you led Dumbledore's Army. Her review of your performance was glowing," McGonagall's smirk widened.

Harry saw Hermione's blush deepen.

Harry suddenly knew where this was going, but before he could interrupt, McGonagall continued, "I dare say your intervention saved many lives this past year."

"But- but…" Harry started, ready to explain the D.A. hadn't even been his idea, that it was Hermione's, and that he hadn't done it alone.

"Ms. Granger, why don't you explain, since this is your idea."

Harry and Hermione both gaped for a moment.

Harry realized this was probably _not_ the way Hermione had imagined the conversation going, but her surprise quickly transformed into resolve as she spoke, "Oh, Harry, don't be mad at me, but I think you should teach Defense."

Harry's surprise remained.

 _Me? Teach?_

He imagined what Ron would say if he were here.

 _Probably something about my really studious nature and love of following rules._ Harry couldn't hold back his laughter.

"Hermione…" he started, his laugh continuing, as if it were just the two of them in the room, "you're mad."

Hermione did not let his words or laughter deter her, "You'd be brilliant Harry. It'd be nearly just like the D.A."

Hermione had convinced him once, convinced him to start and lead the D.A., but he didn't think there was any possibility she could convince him to be a professor…

 _Professor Potter_. He cringed, and chuckled again, at the absurdity of it.

Hermione was not amused, "Harry!" She said indignantly.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Harry abdicated. He got his laughter under control.

"In all seriousness though, Hermione, there were no real _lessons_ with the D.A… no essays to assign, no tests. I was rubbish with my own schoolwork, how could I possibly be expected to-"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts has always had a… _unique_ , curriculum." McGonagall interjected.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"So that's what you'd call the debacle that was "Professor" Lockheart… _unique?_ " Harry said sarcastically, for a moment forgetting with whom he was speaking.

"Mr. Potter…" McGonagall warned gently.

"Headmistress McGonagall is right, Harry," Hermione interrupted the apology on Harry's lips.

"Hermione, I know you had a… _thing_ for the man, but really, still?" Harry teased, referring to Hermione's second-year infatuation with Lockheart, the humor of the situation really growing on him.

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest in refute, but Harry noticed she was unable to hold back a smile.

McGonagall put a hand to her lips, in an attempt to conceal a small smile of her own.

"It's true, Harry. Defense professors have been allowed a lot of freedom…"

Somehow, Harry's eyebrow managed to raise further, as he opened his mouth to make another snarky comment, but Hermione was quick to continue.

"…which, as you well know, worked out really well for Professor Lupin… for _all_ of us that year."

Harry's smirk faded as the room turned somber, as the memory of Teddy's father occupied their minds.

Harry remembered Remus' Defense classes with fondness, yes, but he would never forgot how Remus taught him to find hope, to summon the will to carry on, even in the darkest of times.

He'd never forget the feeling of conjuring his patronus for the first time.

 _Maybe I could do that for someone else_ , Harry considered, thinking of all the students, now and in the future, who no doubt may need guidance to find hope, in the midst of living through post-war loss.

Harry looked meaningfully over his shoulder at his godson, a child orphaned by the war.

"You could do it," Hermione spoke softly, as if reading Harry's thoughts.

He knew he imagined it, but he could have sworn he saw the reflection of his stag, racing across a rapidly frozen lake, flash in Hermione eyes.

He didn't know it, but he _wasn't_ imagining it, at least not completely.

Hermione too was recalling Remus as the one who'd taught Harry how to summon his patronus, how he'd brought out the best of Harry's magical ability.

But more importantly, she remembered the time turner, and the first time she'd seen Harry's full patronus, how he'd saved Sirius' life, and their lives too, how he'd learned to let himself believe in his own ability, the wondrous, powerful ability she'd always recognized he had inside, the resilience she continued to admire.

Unable to know what her former students were thinking, but being the sole observer of their silent exchange, their inextinguishable gaze, Minerva McGonagall was not reminded of Remus, but of James and Lily. Not James and Lily as they were as students, but how they came to be soon after their graduation, in their marriage, as they became parents.

In truth, Minerva McGonagall had not spent much time with James and Lily after their graduation from Hogwarts, but everyone who spent any amount of time with the pair during their all-too-brief time on this earth as a married couple, as parents, were struck by their bond, as McGonagall was struck now.

Although it was not her habit to consider such things, in fact she made a conscious effort _not_ to become too involved in the personal lives of her students, she wondered if perhaps there may be something _more_ between Harry and Hermione, something perhaps they did not recognize themselves.

The silence now palpable to Hogwarts' Headmistress, she explained, "You would not be teaching all the students, at least not right away."

Harry and Hermione broke their connection, the present abruptly breaking its way into their consciousness.

"You worry about lessons and tests, but from what Ms. Granger told me, it sounds as though there were lessons of a sort during your D.A. meetings. Certainly, there were no tests of parchment and ink, but the _true_ tests, those came later." McGonagall said, referring to the previous year, when Snape had been headmaster and the Carrows had ruled the halls, and of course, the Final Battle.

"Yeah, but… I'm so young. No one's going to listen to me."

"And Ms. Granger, do you think her too young as well? If I'm not mistaken, you are the same age."

Harry floundered, "Well- maybe- no, but… Hermione's so much more clever than I am. It's different."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Thanks, Harry, but that's no excuse. You're about a thousand times better at Defense than me. Plus, don't forget about your wandless magic."

McGonagall's eyebrows disappeared beneath the brim of her hat, "Wandless magic?" She questioned.

"Er- yeah, I think so," Harry answered. "Remember what I did to your classroom?" Harry continued, referring to the mess he'd made of McGonagall's classroom, out of frustration with his research concerning Hermione's withdrawal.

"Yes, Harry's done it… uncontrolled of course, but I've seen it."

"That's very interesting, although, now that you remind me, I can't say it's very surprising. I am not as skilled as Professor Dumbledore was, to be sure, but I can teach you how to control your outbursts of wandless magic at the very least, Mr. Potter, if you wish."

"I can try to help too, Harry, I've been reading up on it loads."

"Thanks," Harry said, unsure, but not unkindly. Control had never been his forte.

"Back to the matter at hand. It's true that you are both very young in years, especially when the average age of a Hogwarts' professor is concerned, but there is no age requirement. We want professors who are qualified, and passionate… witches and wizards who care about their students. You and Ms. Granger surpass these requirements, without a doubt."

Harry and Hermione both blushed.

"You could start after Christmas recess, with the first year students only. I would guide you, of course. Professor Slughorn and I plan on instructing years two through seven."

"I'll be here to help you too, Harry," Hermione assured again. "I'll be taking on some of Flitwick's first and second year students, and assisting the rest of his classes."

Harry admitted it would be helpful to have Hermione around, he was sure he would need help.

 _It'd be nice to start our jobs together_ , he mused.

"You said _conditions_ , what are the other conditions?" Harry wanted full knowledge of what he might be getting himself into.

"That we get to choose where we live, while we teach."

That seemed reasonable to Harry. "I wouldn't have to live here?"

"You would each be given your own lodgings, but you and Ms. Granger would have the option to come and go as you wish, as long as your duties are fulfilled, of course."

"Then I can still help take care of Teddy," Harry said, happily, gesturing to his godson.

"And I can see my parents. I don't think they'd take it too well if I told them I was leaving again."

Harry nodded. He couldn't imagine how Hermione moving away would make Mr. and Mrs. Granger feel, after they just got their daughter back… again.

"Ms. Granger already mentioned her other condition, that you have freedom, within reason of course, with your curriculum."

This seemed reasonable to Harry.

"If- _if_ I accept…" Harry said firmly, seeing Hermione's eyes shine with expectation, "I have some conditions of my own."

McGonagall brought the tips of her fingers together and raised an eyebrow.

"I need to complete Auror training. How am I going to help students decide if they want to be an Auror if I've never learned how to be one?"

Hermione beamed.

"That's rather wise of you, Mr. Potter. Consider it done. You may attend Auror training simultaneously, as you teach the first year classes. I know Minister Shacklebolt attempted to recruit you. I expect he will be more than pleased."

"You said conditions, what are the other conditions?" Hermione echoed Harry's earlier sentiment.

"That we can have visitors." _Ron will like that for business_ , Harry noted, thinking of the joke shop.

Harry wondered with idle curiosity why Hermione had not mentioned this herself to McGonagall as one of her own conditions.

"Like Ron, and Teddy and Andromeda too."

This new condition gave McGonagall some pause, as she had the safety of her students to consider, but knowing both Ron and Andromeda well, she was willing to compromise.

"Mr. Weasley may visit as he pleases… as long as he abides by the rules. Andromeda and your godson may visit as well, but you must arrange the visit with me. No one will have the ability to apparate directly into or out of Hogwarts, not even you or Ms. Granger, but outside the gate leading to Hogsmeade should suffice as an access point."

Harry nodded, smiling. Hermione nodded as well.

"So, do you accept, Mr. Potter?"

"I'll need to talk to 'Dromeda about it. When I moved in with her, I promised I'd take care of Teddy, and I really haven't been living up to that promise," Harry said truthfully, looking down at Teddy.

"I'm sure she understands, Harry," Hermione tried to reassure, knowing her withdrawal had been largely responsible for his absence from Andromeda's.

"You will let me know soon then, Mr. Potter? Tomorrow, if possible. The students return in a week's time."

"Yes, as soon as I can," Harry agreed, and Hermione beamed brighter, if that was possible.

Harry laughed, "So proud of yourself, hmm?"

"Completely," Hermione laughed too. "Remember we said we'd help each other?"

Harry nodded, recalling their late night talk not so long ago.

Hermione then nearly revealed that she'd found his letter, tucked away in her desk drawer, but couldn't bring herself to do so.

"Oh, I forgot… one last thing," Harry said, suddenly very serious.

Hermione and McGonagall looked at him with curiosity.

"My room, I don't want it anywhere near the Slytherin common room," Harry shivered.

"See, now that's a problem, Harry. Actually, my last condition was for you to be Slytherin's Head of House," Hermione teased.

McGonagall merely sat back in her chair and smiled as she observed two of her former students, soon to be Hogwarts' newest professors, continue their banter. She tried _not_ to think of it, but having such fondness for the two, she couldn't help but anticipate just how their futures may unfold.

/


	15. Chapter 15 - Walk with Me

A/N: The fic continues! "I'm sorry," doesn't seem like an adequate apology for how long it's taken me to continue this story, but for those of you following, please know I am truly sorry to keep you waiting. The story _will_ continue, and it _will_ (eventually) be completed. Thank you so much for reading!

/

The morning Harry and Hermione prepared to meet with McGonagall, Ron woke unexpectedly earlier than usual in his still-too-short bed at The Burrow.

He shared breakfast with his mum and dad before heading out into the frigid, but clear, sunshine.

Ron never liked to apparate directly into work from inside The Burrow, preferring instead to take the time, rain or shine, to walk beyond the edge of their property, to follow the winding path of river and reeds past the Lovegoods' homestead and Stout Hill, only choosing to finally disapparate to work when he reached the edge of the little village.

Along these walks, Ron thought a lot about Fred. He noticed how the cattails seemed to rustle with the ghost of his brother's laughter. Ron remembered all the moments they'd shared amongst the water, trees, and bramble of Ottery St. Catchpole: Fred teaching him how to fish in the stream (and how he'd pushed him into said stream on more than one occasion); Quidditch scrimmages on frazzled, hand-me-down brooms; Fred carrying Ginny home after she'd broken her arm falling from a tree.

It went without saying, but Ron regretted he'd never be able to spend time with Fred ever again, felt ashamed that he continued to live while Fred could not, and above all else, Ron simply _missed_ his brother every day.

Today, however, Ron was given some reprieve. It was as if some force of nature knew **this** morning walk was more difficult than usual, as he felt the weight of Hermione seemingly slipping away.

"Morning, Ron!" Luna, or who Ron assumed was Luna, managed to call through the yellow shawl wrapped around her shoulders, neck, and mouth. Only her nose and wide blue eyes were visible under the brim of an equally yellow knitted hat.

"Hi Luna," Ron smiled, cheered at the sight of her. Luna was a guest at George and Angelina's wedding and Christmas, but Ron hadn't spoken to her much, especially not one-on-one. Now seemed a good a time as any.

"Walk with me?" Ron asked, gesturing ahead.

Luna's eyes were smiling as she nudged her way directly _through_ the hedge to join him.

Ron shook his head in laughter, "Don't fancy the gate?"

"Now that you ask, not particularly."

Ron mused this comment summed up a lot about Luna. Free, open-minded, welcoming.

"Dad installed it ages ago, I think when your garden gnomes started invading our strawberry patch. Mum couldn't make any strawberry pie that year. Nearly ruined dad's summer."

Again Ron shook his head and laughed, then realized he had only briefly seen Xenophilius Lovegood at the wedding, and the man had been absent on Christmas.

"Luna!" A voice echoed in concern, as if on cue. It was Xeno, calling from an open window. "Is that one of the Weasley boys? Where are you going?"

"For a walk with Ron! I won't be long, promise!" Luna called back without turning around, despite her father's continued calls. The sound faded into the winter air as they continued forward.

Ron looked at Luna quizzically, but didn't hesitate to follow her lead.

The pair walked in silence for a few moments.

Then Ron asked, "How's your dad doing? Why wasn't he at Christmas? We, uh, missed him," Ron hastily added, suddenly realizing he might be prying.

Luna sighed sadly. Ron wasn't sure he'd ever heard the sound before. Ron knew his friend as someone eternally optimistic, in a very realistic sort of way. Suddenly, he felt very concerned, knowing all too well both Luna and her father had not remained unscathed during the war.

"Dad, he still has trouble… leaving the house, and not being with me."

Xenophilius Lovegood did not strike Ron as a popular man in any conceivable realm of human existence, nor one who had many friends or close relations. Having lost Fred, Ron now knew firsthand how difficult, how impossible at times, it was to lose a family member.

 _At least I have my family and friends,_ Ron thought, _Xeno must've felt so alone after losing Luna's mum… and then when he thought he'd lost his daughter too…_

Ron now understood with greater clarity Mr. Lovegood's actions during the war, when he, Harry, and Hermione had sought him out for answers. His appreciation for Luna grew deeper.

"That was great that he made it out to the wedding then," Ron said in an attempt at positivity.

Luna smiled appreciatively, "Thanks, Ron, it was. I'm not going to lie, it's not been easy for him, for either of us… but we try to remember something my mum used to say. _We have a choice_."

"What d'you mean?" Ron asked sincerely.

"We have the ability to choose our mindset, our outlook after the war. We can choose fear, hatred, and resentment… or we can choose resilience, optimism, and kindness."

Luna met his gaze head-on as she continued, sending a shiver down Ron's spine that had nothing to do with the cold, "So many people died to protect the ability to choose, for others. My dad doesn't mean to take it for granted, and neither do I. I think it's just going to take some time."

Ron nodded solemnly, but somehow, found himself smiling.

"Brilliant."

Luna smiled in return. Somehow, they'd reached the edge of the village. Ron wanted nothing more in that moment than to continue their walk, but duty called.

"This is usually where I disapparate."

Ron couldn't tell if Luna was disappointed by this, but he found himself hoping she was. He shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Y'know, I take this walk every day I go to the shop. You should walk with me- if you want to I mean."

"Brilliant," Luna beamed.

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	16. Chapter 16 - Choices

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/

The next day, Harry found Diagon Alley abandoned, save for his own presence and the illumination of shop windows that told him there was in fact life behind the frosted window panes. Shivering outside the door of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, despite the weight of his woolen layers, Harry understood why the Alley and its winding passageways were silent.

He welcomed both the physical and emotional warmth of the familiar shop as he entered. He was greeted with an immediate summoning of a disembodied voice from a crooked balcony above.

"Oi, mate, sorry about that- we don't open until eleven!" Lee Jordan called.

"Not even for old friends, Lee? When did you all start getting so serious around here?" Harry called, removing his hat and scarf and tucking them under his arm.

Lee's smiling face appeared two stories up, "Is that Potter I see? It all makes sense now, showing up before we're even open, expecting special privileges…" Lee joked.

George suddenly appeared, sliding down a bright orange ladder, a lumpy, whirring sac slung over his back.

"Better watch-er Lee, one bad review from this investor and we're through. Besides, he's here to check up on his favorite Weasley! Making sure the 'Mrs.' hasn't offed me on the honeymoon, Harry? How thoughtful," George exclaimed cheerfully.

Harry began to shake his head no, suddenly feeling nervous about the true purpose of his visit, but George continued before he could speak, nudging Harry in the ribs, "Oh, _I see_ , looking for some _pointers_ then? Now that you know I've got the inside scoop?"

A long whistle, presumably Lee's, echoed from above.

"Potter doesn't need your lousy tips, George, haven't you read the Prophet? _**Harry's**_ the one who should be giving _us_ the 'inside scoop!"

Harry suddenly felt immensely grateful he'd just come in from the frigid air, his already reddened cheeks concealing his embarrassment.

George scoffed in jest, "Maybe if Angie and I were looking to make ourselves a little George junior!" With a nod of his head, he beckoned Harry down a narrow aisle.

As he followed George, Lee's prodding whistle and laughter fading into the jovial din of the shop's surroundings, Harry attempted in vain to brush away the onslaught of feathers, glitter, and other unidentifiable substances from his coat. George didn't seem to notice the calamity as they past stacks of boxed and bagged tricks and contraptions.

"Glad to hear your honeymoon was, uh-" Harry started in earnest.

" _Memorable?_ " Ron's dry, muffled voice finished. Harry had yet to spot his best friend. "The only thing _memorable_ about it is that Angelina is still sticking around."

"Little brother's got _quite_ the big head after running the shop with Lee while the boss was out. See if you can do something about that, Harry. Better yet, get Hermione over here, why don't you?"

Harry's heart sank at the mention of Hermione. As much as Harry didn't understand the reasoning behind Ron's jealousy, as much as Harry couldn't bring himself to explore it, Ron's reaction after having seen the Prophet's Christmas article made it perfectly clear that although Ron had managed to destroy Voldemort's locket, he hadn't been able to destroy his jealousy and suspicion of the nature of Harry and Hermione's relationship.

Harry had a sinking feeling Ron wouldn't exactly be _happy_ for Harry's acceptance of the Defense position, not because Ron thought Harry wasn't right for the job, but because Harry and Hermione would be back at Hogwarts together, albeit in new roles, without him.

Harry wanted to include Ron, but how? The idea struck him shortly after his conversation with Hermione and McGonagall- _auror training_. Harry planned to ask Ron to join him in auror basic training. In truth, Harry could think of no one he'd rather complete basic training with.

 _Well… other than Hermione, too,_ Harry thought.

As George disappeared further into the cluttered shop, Ron emerged from below a trapdoor in the floor, his arms leaden with small boxes of Lunar Loop Luminators.

"Give me a hand, would you?" Ron asked Harry as he nearly careened backward into the gaping opening of the trap door.

"Got it!" Harry scrambled forward, relieving Ron of the weight of the some of the items.

Now steadied with Harry's assistance, Ron led them both down a sparsely-stocked aisle.

"How was Hogwarts?" Ron asked, "Did Hermione get to see her new room?"

Harry followed Ron's lead in re-stocking the shelves.

"Yeah, we started setting up her room. It's nice, not far from the common room."

Ron nodded in approval, "Wonder if McGonagall will let me visit much," Ron laughed, and Harry noticed how empty it sounded, "Wonder if _**Hermione**_ will let me visit much."

Harry didn't pause to look at Ron, but furrowed his brow in confusion. He wasn't sure what Ron was getting at, and Harry could feel his resolve slipping away.

 _Now or never,_ Harry shrugged internally, hoping his words came out all right.

"Actually, I asked McGonagall about visitors, you, and Teddy- 'Dromeda too," Harry ventured, watching Ron's head disappear below the floorboards again to retrieve more product.

"'Dromeda? And Teddy? What about _you_? Not planning on ever visiting- _**UGH,**_ bloody hell, Lee!" Harry jumped at the sound of Ron's sudden shout coupled with the clamor of what Harry recognized as the sound of the glass jars of _U-Kno-Poo_ suddenly meeting the basement's flagstone floor.

"I seriously wonder what planet he lives on-"

Harry continued in a rush, despite Ron's consternation and the aromas of _U-Kno-Poo_ rapidly wafting upward, "Well, McGonagall asked me to stay- to teach Defense."

The silence that followed was as deafening as the sound of a thousand _U-Kno-Poo_ jars shattering. Harry tried in vain to swallow the lump in his throat.

Ron remained out of Harry's line of sight, below the trapdoor's opening, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the railings of the uneven narrow stairway. Incoherent, contradictory thoughts sprinted unpredictable pathways in his mind. Ron focused on breathing in, then out.

In that moment, Ron could have reacted in any of the ways to which he'd grown accustomed. Instead, he thought of Luna, and what she'd told him about choice and mindset.

He may not possess many qualities, like subtlety, but Ron knew he could be honest with himself, or at least, he was _learning_ to be. In this moment, Ron knew he felt jealous of his best friends, who, yet again, seemed to share a closeness he didn't understand, to be heading in a direction he couldn't follow.

In this moment, Ron knew he had a choice. He could let jealousy, anger, and resentment win, or he could be the friend he _wanted_ to be, the friend who was worthy of redemption, even after abandonment and betrayal. He could be the type of person Hermione deserved.

Ron emerged at the top of the steps and sat himself on the floorboards, his feet resting on the top step below, elbows perched atop his knees, " _Professor_ Potter, eh? Fancy all the papers you'd get to grade, or have you developed some kind of Lockheart syndrome I should know about?"

Harry was relieved to hear the jest in Ron's tone. He breathed a sigh of relief and joined his best friend, legs dangling over the edge of the opening of the cellar door.

"You don't think I should do it?" Harry asked, smiling, but he was serious. He valued Ron's opinion.

Again, Ron's jealousy wanted him to say _'No, I don't think you should, it's a terrible idea.'_

Ron refrained. Instead, he asked, "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know," Harry responded after a noticeable pause.

Ron raised an eyebrow, "Kind of seems to me maybe you do know. Kind of seems like you'd be an idiot _not_ to do it."

Harry looked up in surprise.

"Look, you're no Hermione in the intelligence department-"

"Obviously," Harry interjected, smirking.

"-but I don't know if there's anyone out there who knows more about Defense than you."

"Ron, you're making me blush," Harry joked, but felt a deep appreciation for the compliment.

"Don't get used to it- I'm sure McGonagall will be keeping watch over your performance. Hermione too."

"Not sure who I should be more afraid of," Harry smirked.

"Thankfully I'm only teaching the first years. There's more I need to learn about Defense and being an auror. So one of my conditions with McGonagall is to complete auror basic training. D'you want to do it with me?"

Ron was taken aback, but truthfully intrigued. He enjoyed working in the shop more than he ever expected he would, but he found himself wondering from time to time what other job could be out there for him. Auror had crossed his mind more than a couple times.

"Brilliant. But more importantly, what's this about _conditions_ with McGonagall? Did I hear that right?"

"Inspired by Hermione, actually," Harry spoke without thinking, "It was her condition that McGonagall offer me the Defense job for her to take the Charms position."

Ron's face fell at this news.

 _Idiot,_ Harry thought to himself. He quickly continued, trying to change the subject. "My other condition is you can visit when you like, Teddy and 'Dromeda too."

Ron tried not to dwell on Hermione's condition, "Bet McGonagall loves when her former students try bossing her around."

Ron sighed, thinking again that it was _Harry_ who asked McGonagall if he could visit often, _not_ Hermione.

"Look, uh, Harry- I was serious about what I said earlier, about Hermione not wanting me to visit much-"

""C'mon Ron, I know you've still been fighting-" Harry interrupted, but Ron didn't let him finish.

"Hermione didn't mention anything?"

Harry looked at him blankly.

Ron was surprised Hermione hadn't told Harry about their "break." He idly wondered why she hadn't.

"The other day, we, without too much arguing actually," Ron continued, as though trying to encourage himself that there was yet hope, "we uh, decided to sort of- take a break? I think that's what you call it."

"Oh," Harry said. He'd heard the term somewhere before, but he didn't really understand it. He'd never had the opportunity to 'take a break' with someone. To Harry, it sounded an awful lot like Ron was saying he and Hermione had broken up from whatever it was they had tried to be.

"Think maybe we rushed into it, or maybe-" Ron wavered. There were innumerable 'maybes' in his mind.

 _Maybe we never actually felt **that** way about each other. Maybe we were scared of losing Harry, losing each other... dying. __Maybe we never really considered what we'd really want, if we survived after the war._ _Maybe I'm too insecure._ Ron found himself occasionally wondering who else in the world could possibly ever care for him _that_ way.

 _I wonder if Harry and Hermione feel like that too?_ Ron considered for the first time.

 _Maybe they're more like me thank I think- maybe they don't have a_ **damn clue.** _Have they ever even been a little selfish enough to think about what they want for themselves?_

Ron very much doubted it. His best friends were always putting everyone else first.

 _Maybe it's my turn to be selfless for a change._ _Maybe Harry and Hermione are right for each other, and I've been standing in the way._

 _Or maybe they_ **aren't** _,_ another peskier voice chimed.

 _Too many bloody maybes._

"Maybe we all just have no idea what we're doing," Harry concluded perfectly, as if reading Ron's mind.

"Seems most likely," Ron managed a smile, nodding. His heart hurt, but oddly, he felt the beginnings of something lighter, better. Inspired by Luna's words, he was going to do his best to choose selflessness, to allow Harry and Hermione a chance to be selfish for a change, to not have to worry about protecting his feelings, and to really think about what they want.

 _Merlin knows, they deserve it after the hell I put them through._

"Auror training. Think Kingsley'll have me?" Ron asked sincerely.

"Course. He'd be mental not to."

"George!" Ron announced, "I'm starting auror training! Going to have to manage with me part-time for a while!"

"Fantastic!" George shouted back from somewhere within the shop, "I expect sales to increase tenfold!"

Harry tried in vain to conceal his laughter.

"Training sounds like a vacation compared to this place- at least I'll get some respect."

"Doubt it!" Lee chimed from yet another overhead railing.

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A/N: Thank you for reading!


	17. Chapter 17 - The Portrait

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"I dare say you are well on your way to creating quite the trench."

Hermione paused mid-pace, interrupting one step of many, and glanced up at the voice emanating from the portrait outside the chambers of one of Hogwarts' most recently appointed professors.

"And that bit of floor you're trudging atop is granite, mind you," the woman in the portrait continued.

The woman in the portrait was young, with golden brown hair swept back, just above the nape of her neck. She was dressed plainly, but the collar of her dress was low, bearing the tops of her shoulders. Her features were poised and calm, emanating a palpable air of elegance. The figure's skin glowed, as if from inside, against a darkened, muddy backdrop that seemed incomplete.

Hermione wondered if that was the portrait artist's original intent, to depict a stark contrast of grace and experience with youth and naivety. Knowing and unknowing. Hermione admitted that her assessment could just be a reflection of what she herself was feeling.

In any case, Hermione felt quite unsure at this moment, pacing worriedly outside of Harry's door the night before her first day as 'Professor Granger.'

Hermione looked away and continued her march, back and forth.

"He _is_ awake, you know…. the brooding type, isn't he? He's spent so much time standing and staring there, by the hearth."

Hermione was surprised to learn Harry was awake as well, but continued to pace without another glance up at the portrait.

"I hope you do not think I am complaining, no, he seems the perfect gentleman, if not a bit- untidy. And it is certainly no secret that he is an accomplished young man. But no mind, it has been so long since these chambers have witnessed life. I am glad to have the company… and I believe he would be glad to have your company, now."

Hermione paused again, and smiled up at the woman in the portrait.

"Thank you. I'm sorry, I don't think I've introduced myself. I'm Hermione Granger."

"I know," the young lady in the portrait smiled coyly, "I'm not sure there is a figure in this entire castle who does not know the name Hermione Granger… well, unless they happen to be from one of those Medieval panel paintings… those figures tend to keep to themselves, or perhaps we all do our best to avoid them… well, never mind. I'm Jane, it's lovely to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too, Jane," Hermione smiled, then bit her lip nervously. _Maybe I should just go back to my room…_

"You're sure he's awake? I don't want to bother him."

"Positive," Jane assured, her smile transforming from coy to knowing. "Let me tell him you're here."

"No, that's-" Hermione protested, but Jane was gone, presumably to alert Harry of her presence.

Jane returned promptly, smiling, and as her frame swung aside, Harry appeared, clothed in pajamas and robe.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" He beckoned her in.

Hermione hesitated. She felt guilty, worried she'd bothered him.

"I'm sorry Harry, I- I couldn't sleep," Hermione said sheepishly.

Harry smiled, "I can relate. C'mon, I've got a fire going."

As they stepped through, Jane chimed, "Harry, there's tea in the secretary."

Harry looked at Hermione in confusion.

"She means the desk," Hermione explained as she made her way toward a large, chestnut set of drawers, one of which sparkled with the hint of a protruding key. Hermione turned the key and gently let down the wall of the "drawer," which revealed itself to be a desk surface. Inside its cove was a small tea set, chocolate biscuits included.

As Hermione prepared the tea, she was reminded of the biscuits Harry had brought to dinner with her parents, before her withdrawal. It seemed simultaneously so long ago _and_ as if it were yesterday. As supportive as her parents were for her new teaching endeavor at Hogwarts, more guilt washed over Hermione for leaving them, yet again.

Harry saw Hermione's features sadden. "These rooms are full of surprises," Harry said, gesturing to the room around him, in a attempt to give Hermione a reprieve from her dark thoughts, "the lion in the stained glass window showed me my schedule for the week."

"You'd think we were at Hogwarts or something," Hermione managed a sarcastic joke.

Harry smiled at his success at distraction.

"Guess I just missed the bit about professor quarters in chapter nine hundred and nineteen in _Hogwarts: A History_ ," Harry smirked. The joke never seemed to get old.

"I'm surprised you've even made it past chapter two," Hermione responded as she sat herself beside Harry on his small, sofa that was equally as comfortable as it was broken-in.

They sipped tea in silence for a short while before Harry said, "You know, I'm nervous about it too- about teaching. You and McGonagall think I'm qualified, Merlin knows why, and I know I'm not-"

Hermione began to protest, "You're more qualified than me, you basically taught the whole D.A.-"

Harry's laughter interrupted Hermione, "C'mon Hermione, you know we all learned from each other in the D.A... I was thinking I might try to do that with my class."

"That's a great idea, Harry, let them learn from each other. Was that in the lesson plans McGonagall gave you?"

"Er- no. Y'know you can give me _some_ credit, Hermione," Harry joked, feeling Hermione often gave him _too much_ credit.

Hermione simply rolled her eyes and sipped her tea with exceptional volume.

Harry laughed, then said, "Honestly, I'm not really worried about qualifications, I'm worried I won't be able to help them… or worse, I'll make their lives worse. I can't imagine what they've all been through."

Hermione sighed, "But you _can_ imagine what they've been through. You've been through it too, probably worse. I know you probably don't want to hear this, but... just be you."

Harry looked at her skeptically.

"Be honest. Talk to them the way you wished professors would've talked to you, like Professor Lupin did. They don't need someone to lecture them, they need someone to support them, and to show them there's hope."

Harry nodded, feeling better about tomorrow and his new role.

"It's the same for you, too Hermione. You should take your own advice. Your parents would say the same, I think. Being a professor almost seems like it was a job made for you."

"Assistant professor," Hermione corrected.

Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. He ignored her comment, "You might just want to think about easing up on homework though. Not everyone is as, uh, _enthusiastic_ , as you are about writing essays. Just imagine your students are a bunch of little Rons-"

"That's horrifying. Is it too late to change my mind? I'm sure I could get a job at the Ministry, I do know someone with good connections to the Minister," Hermione was smiling fully now, her worries mostly forgotten.

Harry nearly mentioned his conversation with Ron at the shop, but thought better of it, now that Hermione's mood seemed lifted.

Harry and Hermione talked for a while more, comforted by the warmth of a fire, but more so by the company of each other. It wasn't long before both were sleeping soundly, nestled among blankets and cavernous cushions.

Upon the dawn of the first day of lessons for Hogwarts' newest staff members, gentle red and gold light filtered through an enchanted stained glass window. The light stretched across ancient floorboards and stone, warm and encouraging, finding the slumbering eyelids of said professors.

From a portrait above the mantle, Jane looked on in romantic wonder, and thought the moment as pretty as a picture.

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A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing!


	18. Chapter 18 - Professor

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A couple hours later, Harry found himself at the head of an empty classroom. His classroom. He pictured every Defense classroom he'd ever walked into, and realized his was, in contrast, starkly empty, save for an ancient Muggle-style chalkboard, the students' desks, his large desk and seat, and the light streaming in through the tall windows.

He sat behind his desk, then, abruptly, dragged his uncomfortable wooden chair next to the desk. He drummed his fingers nervously on his lap. He shifted McGonagall's lesson plan, left, then right. He got up, manually wrote his name on the chalkboard.

'Professor Potter'

 _Ugh._

He hastily erased it.

'Harry,' he wrote.

 _Nope, no, definitely not._ Harry erased that too.

Before he could etch out his name another way, Harry heard the chattering voices of students approach.

 _Well, here goes nothing._

While the students had been talkative in the hall, they were silent as they entered. McGonagall, hoping to encourage unity amongst the houses, had decided to blend houses in all classes for every year.

Harry pretended to look busy with his lesson plan, flipping hastily through the pages, not actually reading anything. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry watched as red, green, blue, and yellow-clad students, his students, he realized fearfully, found their seats.

 _Is this real?_

He wished Hermione were by his side, like the D.A.

When it seemed as though all the students had arrived, Harry began roll call.

"Rachel Aborisco," Harry paused, but there was no answer. He noted some of the students rolling their eyes.

"Rachel Aborisco!" Harry called again. This time, a girl, dressed in Slytherin green, appeared in the doorway.

"Here!" She called breathlessly as she scurried to the only open desk in the room, in the front row. "Sorry," she mumbled, turning scarlet. Again, Harry noted more eye-rolling from some of the students.

"That's all right," Harry said, then continued roll call. He tried not to smirk, reminded of his own first year.

The predictable security of roll call ended, and the room was silent as the students, and Harry himself, waited for direction.

 _Right,_ Harry thought to himself dryly, thinking how awkward he must seem at this moment. Again, he wished Hermione were with him.

 _But she isn't._ Harry remembered he'd accepted this position for a purpose, and he wasn't about to forget it just because he was afraid of a few eleven- and twelve-year olds.

"So… I'm Harry, but I guess you already know that," Harry shrugged, stating the obvious, but continued honestly, "I hope to learn who all of you are, too."

A Ravenclaw boy's hand shot up in the air. Harry wondered what he could possibly have to say so early in the lesson.

"Yes, er- Anthony, was it?"

"Tony," the boy affirmed, "Tony Rodriguez. What should we call you, uh, professor?"

"Harry. Or 'Professor' if you prefer… If Headmistress McGonagall or Herm- er, Professor Granger are around, you should probably call me Professor… unless you're aiming to lose house points."

Some of the students laughed.

 _Encouraging,_ Harry thought, emboldened. He leaned against his desk.

"Speaking of the Headmistress… she gave me your textbook," Harry gestured to the copy of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ by Quentin Trimble propped open on Rachel Aborisco's desk, then continued, "And a lesson plan, here," Harry held up the thick binder for all to see, then dropped it back on the desk. Some of the students groaned.

"Let me finish, let me finish," Harry explained, smirking.

"According to lesson plan one, I'm supposed to review Lumos," Harry held up his wand as it illuminated, "and Nox." Harry's wand went out.

"Simple, but Lumos is more useful than it looks- it can repel Gytrashes and some evil spirits."

Some of the students began whipping out their notebooks and furiously taking notes. Harry chuckled internally, then continued, winging it.

"There's a lot of useful stuff in your textbook and this lesson plan, outside of both too, things you'll learn and practice in this class. Spells and information I hope you'll remember even after you leave Hogwarts. But McGonagall won't be the one teaching this class… I will. And _you_ will too."

Most of the students had forfeited their notes by now, but some looked around questioningly at each other.

Noticing this, Harry elaborated, "In this class, we'll learn from each other."

"Today we have to learn about something more important than spells and hexes though- today I want us to learn about the War… and about each other."

The class was silent, rapt with attention.

"Fortunately, all of us here were lucky enough to live through it, but I'd bet fifty galleons we all know someone who wasn't so fortunate. It's important to remember the past, to honor the people who made those impossible sacrifices. The War is part of all of us, and it can help us move forward, together."

Harry paused, amazed the words were just spilling out, amazed he held their attention.

 _At least I think they're paying attention._

"Does anyone want to share something about their time during the War?"

Harry realized he was asking a lot. In fact, he knew he would've been horrified if a professor had asked him a question like the one he was asking now. Despite this truth, somehow, Harry knew it was the right thing to do.

The room remained silent, and Harry sighed.

 _If you're asking them to share, you should too,_ a voice that sounded an awful lot like Hermione's said.

"Me first then. My friend Dobby released me from imprisonment, just as I was starting to lose hope of escape," Harry shivered at the memory of Hermione's tortured screams, the thought of which managed to continue to keep him awake at night.

Harry took a breath and continued, "Then, as if that wasn't enough, Dobby gave his own life to save mine… and Professor Granger's too. We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him."

The room was quiet again. Then, a girl in Gryffindor cautiously raised her hand. Harry simply nodded for her to share.

"My Uncle Bill, his mum, my grandmother, was Muggle-born. He loved Quidditch, he was a beater. He loved breaking the rules on the pitch and in life," the girl laughed sadly, "That's what we wrote in his obituary."

She continued, "When Snatchers started capturing people, he hid them. Always had a knack for disillusionment charms. But they found him, they found everyone. They imprisoned all the people he was protecting, but Uncle Bill, they-"

A Ravenclaw girl reached over to her friend, put her hand encouragingly on her shoulder.

It wasn't long before another student raised their hand to share. This time, it was a Hufflepuff student. Again, Harry nodded encouragingly.

"My dad, he worked for the Ministry. He refused to give the names of Muggle-born co-workers. Death Eaters tortured him, then when they were done with him, sent him to Azkaban. He's still at St. Mungo's… over Christmas break he finally remembered my name."

"I thought I saw you at St. Mungo's over break," another Hufflepuff gently chimed in, "I was seeing my sister. She was here last year, it was her third year. Her doctor said she might be able to come back in September."

The students stopped raising their hands, but the stories continued, more as a conversation. Although Harry was overjoyed at the response, he was saddened to empathize too well with his very young students, what they had been through, what they continued to go through, who they had lost.

Harry'd always felt there weren't many perks to being Harry Potter, but he wondered if perhaps because the students knew the greater part of what he'd been through, it helped them find a common ground with him, and allowed them to feel more comfortable in his class, to share their experiences.

 _I hope so, anyway._

The conversation reached a peak, students sharing, and even more supporting one another.

"We should go to St. Mungo's together next time," one student said determinedly to another.

"Your sister sounds like she was brilliant, let's ask Flitwick about making a plaque for her in the Common Room," a Ravenclaw encouraged a classmate.

"We should organize a memorial ride around the pitch-"

It went on and on. Harry didn't say much at all, he didn't need to. After some time, the conversation naturally slowed.

As Harry was just about to address the class again, a girl in Slytherin, Rachel Aborisco, the one who'd shown up late to class, spoke quietly, tentatively, as if just to Harry.

"My mum and dad were killed- and my older brother too. I live with my great aunt now-"

"You have _no right_ ," a boy in Gryffindor, Raj Wilson, interrupted. "No right to share your "story," he seethed.

Before Harry could interject, a Hufflepuff girl also said, "Your parents were Death Eaters, and you too I bet, _junior_ Death Eater. How can you even show your face in this class, at this school?"

Rachel's face paled as she hung her head in shame. The other Slytherin students looked away.

"Stop," Harry took a breath, "I want this class to be an open place, and an honest place, but I _won't_ stand for that kind of prejudice," he continued, firmly, seriously, his eyes visibly darkening. He felt something swell inside him.

 _Nonverbal, wandless magic,_ Harry thought. He tried to calm himself before someone got hurt.

The students retreated into their seats, the room deadly silent. Raj only huffed and crossed his arms in defiance.

"I loved my brother," Rachel said tearfully, never lifting her gaze, "he never wanted it- any of it. He stayed to protect me… I hate what my parents did to him, what they did to him."

"I'm so sorry, Rachel," Harry all but whispered, remembering stories of Sirius' upbringing.

" _Sorry?_ For her? How can you _defend_ her?" Raj now shouted. "You're sticking up for Death Eaters and Slytherin!" The boy said in disgust.

"So what you're saying, Raj, is that you think Rachel's family deserved to be killed? You think she deserves to live the rest of her life without her parents and her brother? That sounds an awful lot like what Voldemort and his followers thought Muggle-borns 'deserve.'"

"What? No-" Raj blubbered. Some of the students shifted their silent gazes toward the Gryffindor.

Harry remained calm as he stood resolutely at the front of the room, addressing the entire class now, "Like I warned before, I won't tolerate this kind of prejudice, and neither should all of you. We _all_ have light and dark inside each of us, it's what we chose to act on that makes the difference. If you think someone is born pure evil, or you think they must be evil because they're in Slytherin, you have a lot to learn. I might've reacted like Raj not all that long ago, but I've learned… I'm still learning."

"And that's why you're here, at Hogwarts, in this class. To learn," Harry wasn't sure how his words were coming so fluidly, so clearly. He wasn't sure he'd ever been so articulate.

He couldn't help but wonder if Hermione would be proud of him.

"Voldemort wasn't born an evil monster. He was born human, like the rest of us, orphaned as a baby, then a neglected child. I'm not making excuses for him, but he _chose_ evil…"

"The sorting hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, it said I could do great things in that house. Out of prejudice, I begged it not to. I was a fool. Severus Snape was a Slytherin student, eventually Head of House. His choices were… complicated, but he was one of the bravest men I ever knew."

The class was rapt with attention, even Raj Wilson.

"My parents were in Gryffindor, and one of their best friends, Peter, too. That rat gave them up to Voldemort, cowered in fear for years, and then followed him to the end."

Harry then remembered the Malfoys, how even though Draco had clearly recognized Harry's battered face at Malfoy Manor, he'd chosen not to out him. Harry remembered Narcissa Malfoy's lie, the lie that saves Harry's life, and the War.

"During the War, I witnessed two Death Eaters defy Voldemort, one directly to his face. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't be here. Voldemort would probably still be alive."

Some of the students gasped audibly. Rachel and Raj looked on in silent shock, wide-eyed.

"The point is, we all have a choice, whether you're in Hufflepuff , Slytherin, Gryffindor, or Ravenclaw. We can choose prejudice and hate, or we can choose to try to understand. If the War has taught me anything, it's that we need each other, not just in the fight against the Dark Arts, but to live."

Again, Harry thought of Hermione. How many times had she told him the same thing? How long did it take before he believed her?

"In this class, I'll talk about spells and jinxes, strategy and tactics, but the most important thing I hope you'll learn is how to work together."

Harry eyed the clock, class was nearly over. The room was silent, no one moved. Harry returned to the seat behind his desk.

"I'm sorry!" Raj blurted from the back row. "I'm sorry, Rachel, I didn't mean-"

Rachel turned in her seat and sniffled, "It's okay…"

"I really am sorry, Harry," Raj said again, now looking to Harry for reassurance. Some of the other students nodded encouragingly. A few others, Harry noted, still looked on in shock. Harry nodded silently to Raj.

 _It's a good start… I hope._

"I think that'll do for today. See you all tomorrow."

The students rose slowly from their seats, some frantically whispering to each other as they filed out. Harry noticed Rachel lingering behind, alone.

Spurned by recollections of his own first year, the memory of his godfather born into a family he despised, the understanding Dumbledore had given Malfoy, Harry said quietly, "Headmistress McGonagall reminded me I need to schedule office hours. I dunno officially when they'll be yet… but my door is open, too _all_ students."

"Okay…" she replied timidly, unable to meet his eyes.

"I hope to see you," Harry said sincerely, encouragingly.

Finally Rachel met his eyes, her own filled with tears. Harry wondered if this was the first act of kindness she'd received at Hogwarts.

"Thank you, Professor."

When he was sure all the students had left and were a safe distance away, Harry let out a sigh, dropping his forehead flat on his desk. He noticed his heart thumping. He was exhausted, he was excited, relieved, he was… proud?

 _Will every class be like this?_ Harry wondered.

"I've been listening," A sharp voice shattered the silence and his thoughts. It was McGonagall. Harry jolted upright and gulped when he saw McGonagall standing resolutely in the doorway, arms crossed.

"I see you did not follow the textbook, nor my lesson plan," the Headmistress said flatly.

"Headmistress, I-"

Harry was too busy conjuring an excuse to see the smirk spreading across her usually stern mouth.

"And I couldn't be more proud, Harry," McGonagall interrupted, the twinkle, a rarity, in her eye reminiscent of Dumbledore's.

"Oh- uh, thank you?" Harry said, unbelieving.

"It's clear to me I owe Miss Granger a great debt," McGonagall said sincerely.

"You and me both," Harry agreed, smiling, thinking of the endless debt he owed his best friend.

 _Not that I mind._

"Don't you mean _Professor_ Granger?" Harry corrected coyly, emboldened by McGonagall's praise.

The Headmistress could not contain her laughter, nor the joy she felt at seeing Harry succeed, "Quite right, _Professor_."

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A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing!


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